


The Lonely Isle

by lily_winterwood



Category: Jurassic Park (Movies), Jurassic World (2015), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dinosaurs, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BAMF Bilbo Baggins, Because all the characters who are now dinosaurs are now also female, Jurassic World AU, M/M, Modern Middle Earth, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Raptor Daddy Bilbo Baggins, Rule 63, Velociraptors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 07:25:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4254549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily_winterwood/pseuds/lily_winterwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Thorin Durin, reopening his grandfather's Erebor Prehistoric Wildlife World has been a lot more work than he had originally anticipated.</p><p>It’s one thing to create a theme park featuring genetically resurrected dinosaurs. It’s another to keep it going. Park attendance has been at a steady 20,000 each day, which is paltry compared to attendance rates from even just a year ago. Something new had to be created.</p><p>And something new had, in fact, been created. </p><p>(Jurassic World AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A couple disbeliefs to suspend before we start: Middle-earth's creation myth does not, in fact, include dinosaurs. And for a long time I was waffling between having dinosaurs and turning them into First Age beasts instead. But I decided to go the dinosaur route because, come on, _dinosaurs_. We can just pretend they're a mixture of Morgoth's own creations and Manwe's prototype Giant Eagles. And we can also pretend that they use the Linnean system of classification, because I am the farthest thing from fluent in Quenya (which might probably be their best language for scientific words) and could not possibly hope to tell you what the Quenya word for 'Velociraptor' would be. (Though if you do know, please tell me.)
> 
> That also being said, I've decided that all the characters who are not dinosaurs are also relatively humanoid in size, lifespan (not by Númenorean reckoning), and mannerisms, though they do keep aspects of their cultures such as their languages and their modes of habitation, wherever applicable. This is mostly because I really, really don't want to dive into that whole Elf-vs-Dwarf can of worms when there are _dinosaurs_ trying to eat all of them. I'm sure more thoughtful writers than I could tackle all of these issues. I just want Raptor Daddy Bilbo Baggins.
> 
> Without further ado, let's get this park open!

“Hey, Fee, we’re almost there!”

Fíli Durin groans as his younger brother Kíli tugs at his sleeve again. “Leave me alone, Kee,” he snaps, twitching his mobile out of Kíli’s eager reach and turning away.

Kíli grins widely, making another lunge at the mobile. “Are you texting Sig again?” he teases.

“What’s it to you?”

“You just said goodbye to her like, five hours ago.”

“What if I just wanted to tell her that we’ve landed safely?” Fíli tucks his mobile back into his pocket and levels a scowl at his younger brother, who only grins wider, completely unfazed.

“It doesn’t take you an entire ten minutes to tell her you’ve landed safely. And you wouldn’t need to take pictures of yourself every other minute, too. Sig doesn’t need a photo update every minute to know you’re still alive.”

Fíli snorts, looking out across the water. They’ve been crammed on a ferry with a bunch of tourists, all dangling over the rails snapping pictures of the scenery stretching out before them.

The flight out of Dale to Dorwinion on the shores of the Eastern Sea had been far too long for his liking, what with his twelve-year-old brother bouncing excitedly in the seat next to him. And then he had to face another hour of being next to said bouncing little brother as he babbled about all of the great things they were going to see at Erebor, and how it’d “been _ages_ since they last saw Indâd, Fee, do you think he still remembers us”?

No, Fíli is quite sure their uncle Thorin had all but forgotten them. He shows up to family Durin’s Day celebrations half-attached to his mobile, always calling so-and-so and such-and-such. Apparently resurrecting Great-Granddad’s theme park and making it commercially successful means having absolutely no time for anyone else. And now Mum is making them spend an entire weekend with him.

That’s going to go down so well.

Towering ahead of the ferry now is an island, small but formidable, with lush green jungle crawling up from the shore to the slopes of the great cloud-wreathed mountain in the distance. The Lonely Isle. Perfect scenery for the Erebor Prehistoric Wildlife World, Middle-earth’s only theme park and conservation centre featuring long-extinct dinosaurs recreated from fossils into flesh and bone.

The air around them fairly vibrates with excitement as the island ferry dock approaches. People are taking pictures of the island with their families and friends, talking about all the things they planned to do and see on the island. Fíli turns to Kíli.

“Do you want to take a picture with the island?”

Kíli grimaces. Fíli laughs. The boat docks moments later, and they disembark with the crowd, Fíli’s fingers still ever-twitching towards his mobile, to where Sigrid might have left him a reply to his latest message. He determinedly refuses to check, however, instead following his little brother down the dock in search of the still-familiar figure of their uncle Thorin.

They are greeted, instead, by the sight of a shorter, stouter, older man in a suit and shades, holding a tablet with the names “Fíli and Kíli Durin” on it.

“Indâd didn’t show up?” The disappointment is evident in Kíli’s voice.

Fíli shakes his head. “Looks like it.”

* * *

For Thorin Durin, the boys’ uncle, reopening the Erebor Prehistoric Wildlife World has been a lot more work than he had originally anticipated.

It’s one thing to create a theme park featuring genetically resurrected dinosaurs. It’s another to keep it going. Park attendance has been at a steady 20,000 each day, which is paltry compared to attendance rates from even just a year ago. Something new had to be created.

And something new had, in fact, been created.

“Here at the labs at Erebor, our scientists have been constantly pushing the limits of genetic research and opportunity,” Thorin says as he leads three investors across the floor of the Creation Lab at Erebor. They seem appropriately awed by the work going on around them: scientists extracting DNA from fossils, examining incubators, running tests. Thorin doesn’t pretend to know the intimate details of what the scientists are doing — all that matters is that the end results are eggs that contain dinosaurs in them.

“Here, our methods of extraction and synthesis have de-extincted species of prehistoric flora and fauna alike, using DNA from their modern descendants to fill in gaps in their genetic code,” he says as he draws up to the board containing the details of their latest asset. “However, while simply recreating the past is a tried and true strategy, there are some of us here at ArkCorp who have, indeed, dared to dream further — have dared to step away from de-extinction and towards creation.”

“You’re suggesting, sir, that your labs are planning to create their own dinosaur?” asks one of the investors.

“I am suggesting, madam, that we already have,” replies Thorin, gesturing to the DNA double helix diagram floating on the board, accompanied with the statistics of their newest asset. “Now, when you say that you are willing to sponsor a new attraction here, what precisely did you have in mind?”

“We want to be astounded,” says another investor.

“I believe I can astound you,” replies Thorin, and with a press of a button, a holographic rendering of the park's newest asset appears before them.

The investors’ eyes are huge.  

“This is Smaug, the Calamitasaurus Dominus,” says Thorin, as the holographic creature turns around slowly, its feet shuffling and its mouth wide open in a roar. “Our first genetically-modified hybrid.”

The second investor raises an eyebrow. “How did you manage to breed two different species of dinosaur?” he asks.

Thorin is about to respond, when an older man in a white lab coat with a white turtleneck steps out from a group of scientists in the labs, clearing his throat to get their attention. “Smaug was not bred. She was designed,” he says. “When fully grown, she will be fifty feet long — bigger than a T-Rex.”

“Every time we unveil a new asset, attendance spikes,” says Thorin as he closes the hologram and nods at the scientist, Dr Curunír. It was only natural for the man to be particularly invested in the success of this new asset, as he had been instrumental in creating it. “We get media coverage from all over Middle-earth, celebrity and royal visits — the eyes of the world.”

“This time, the hype is real,” agrees Dr Curunír. “We’ve created something of truly terrifying proportions, exactly as the people have wanted. Smaug is a formidable predator. Her claws are spears, her teeth are swords, and her roar sends fear and awe into the hearts of all who hear her. Truly, she is the crowning jewel of all of our decades of research.”

“And when will she be ready?” asks the third investor.

Thorin smiles. “She already is,” he says.

* * *

“I am Balin Fundinsson,” says the man to Fíli and Kíli as he lowers his tablet and shades, smiling kindly at them both. “Mr Durin has instructed me to accompany you to your suite at the hotel, as well as throughout the park until he can meet you for dinner at the Urs Steakhouse.”

“Wait, you mean he’s not going to be spending the day with us?” Fíli demands. It’s not that he really wants to, in any case, as Uncle Thorin would probably be too busy calling people half the time to actually spend any time with them, but it’s the principle of the thing. If Uncle Thorin says he’s going to take care of them this weekend, he might as well do it in person.

“I’m afraid not, laddie,” says Balin. Kíli scowls. “But he has made sure to give you two VIP passes to the park, which means no waiting in line at any of the attractions, and he has promised to take you on a tour of the Control Room and several other areas behind the scenes tomorrow. That won’t be so bad, would it?”

Balin is quite evidently trying. Kíli’s lower lip still wobbles a little, but the monorail is pulling up at that moment to take them to the resort and then the park, and despite his disappointment, Kíli’s eyes are once more shining with excitement.

Fíli checks his mobile once they’re on the monorail. Sigrid has sent him a message:

**_Don’t forget: if something chases you, run!_ **

Fíli laughs a little. Just up ahead, the monorail passes through a set of magnificent wrought-iron gates bearing the sign “Erebor Prehistoric Wildlife World” just above it. Next to him, Kíli’s face is pressed up against the glass of the monorail window, taking in the scenery before him with wide eyes.

Fíli chuckles at his brother before typing up a response:

**_nothing’s going to chase me here sig, don’t worry._ **

Their suite at the resort is, as promised, spectacular, offering live video feed of some of the park’s attractions on the telly and a spectacular view of the resort’s pools as well as the sparkling lagoon in the park beyond.

Erebor is, indeed, a sight to behold, sparkling white and blue against the lush green foliage. The people below in the streets look like tiny ants from up here, and slight movements in the trees suggest at the hints and possibilities of the dinosaurs that the park is famous for.

“Look at that!” Kíli shouts, and Fíli watches in the lagoon far away as something giant leaps from the water and disappears again with a terrific splash. “Can we go see that, Fee?”

“Are you sure you’re twelve? You act like you’re six,” says Fíli, but there’s not much malice in his voice as he looks on.

“Let’s go to the park, Fee,” says Kíli, completely ignoring the comment like he does to so many of Fíli’s other comments, and moments later Fíli feels a wristband being attached to him and a little brother dragging him towards the door. He sends a helpless look at Balin, who merely smiles serenely at them and moves to follow.

Fíli hopes his mobile will last the day until he can get back to his room and charge it properly.

* * *

After the meeting with the investors, Thorin steps into the Control Room, watching the screens projecting live feeds of the park in front of him.

Park attendance has increased significantly since the announcement of the Calamitasaurus Dominus as the world’s first created species of dinosaur. They’ve already been pre-booking tickets for months on end, as all of Middle-earth seems to be clamouring for a glimpse at the new asset.

“Live count?” asks Thorin to the room in general.

“22,268 visitors,” says Hilda, one of the monitors.

“Any incidents?”

“Three kids in lost and found,” replies Bard, another one of the monitors, “and there are seventeen guests in the medical centres being treated for heatstroke.”

Thorin purses his lips when he notices what the man’s wearing.

“Isn’t it a little in poor taste to be wearing one of the shirts from the old park?” he asks.

“I’ve had it for a while, sir,” replies Bard with a shrug. “My uncle gave it to me. He used to work at the old park.”

Thorin swallows. He can almost hear the roars in the back of his head, the screams —

“Please don’t wear it to work again, Mr Archer,” he says.

“Duly noted,” replies Bard. Thorin folds his arms behind his back and forces his attention back to the screen.

“Did you close the deal, Mr Durin?” asks Hilda.

“It seems like it,” replies Thorin as he watches the families mill about on the park cameras. “Esgaroth Telecom presents the Calamitasaurus Dominus.”

“Bit of a mouthful,” remarks Bard wryly. “Next we’ll have these big companies naming all the new hybrid creations, too. Karningulsaurus. Ithilidon. The Gap of Rohan’s Mearasaurus.”

“Thank you, Mr Archer; if I wanted your input on how to run my park, I would ask you,” deadpans Thorin, his gaze still fixed to the map of the park. “Why are the west plains closed?”  

Hilda’s quick to answer that. “Another Pachycephalosaurus was roaming out of the zone. ACU’s got her sedated and will be relocating her soon.”

“Security said that the new invisible fences were no-fail. That is the second time this month,” snaps Thorin.

“Their implants short out when they fight,” says Hilda with a shrug. “The repeated flanking hits sometimes get right to the implant.”

On the screen, the Asset Containment Unit is already tending to the rogue Pachycephalosaurus. Nearby park visitors are also being calmed and attended to; many of them are being wrapped in shock blankets. Those blankets are probably just as scratchy as he remembers them.

Running a park full of dinosaurs means making sure that even the gentlest of them do not harm the park guests. And as the memories of his own childhood prove, doing that is much easier said than done.

Thorin’s uneasy and preoccupied even as he makes his way out of the Control Room. The Visitor’s Centre out beyond is filled with children digging and excavating, learning and interacting. It brings a smile to his face most days, but today he is too wrapped in his own thoughts to pay much attention to the visitors.

That is, until he spots _them_ by the holographic DNA puzzles.

Mahal, how they’ve grown. Fíli’s sprung up like a bean sprout, and Kíli’s sure to follow in a couple of years. Wasn’t it just yesterday that Fíli had been short enough to ride on his shoulders? Or that Kíli had been small enough to be cradled in his arms and rocked to sleep? Now they’re here, and they’re —

“Indâd!” shouts Kíli, and before Thorin even knows it, he’s being bowled over by this little boy with fuzzy brown hair in desperate need of a haircut, while his blond older brother stands off and watches him coolly. Thorin feels like _he_ ’s the one being placed under the microscope, not the big pieces of amber-coloured vinyl nearby.

“I didn’t expect to run into the two of you so soon,” Thorin confesses as soon as Kíli detaches from him, grinning from ear to ear. “My, you’ve grown, both of you! You’re now… how old are you now, Fíli?” he asks.

“I’m _Kíli_ ,” says Kíli, “and I’m twelve!”

“Kíli, that’s right, your mother was playing a cruel prank on me when she decided to give the two of you rhyming names, I swear. So that makes you,” Thorin adds, turning to Fíli, “Fíli. You were only up to my shoulder when I last saw you. You’re how old, now?”

“Sixteen,” replies Fíli, and there’s a rather bitter tang to his voice that Thorin chooses to ignore for now.

“Sixteen. What a year. I cannot wait to catch up on everything, but I also cannot wait, either. I have several meetings to attend, but I promised to meet you at the Urs Steakhouse at… six, was it?”

Balin, ever the reliable assistant, shakes his head. “Seven. You have the other meeting at six —”

“Yes, seven. You don’t have a bedtime, do you?” asks Thorin, frowning slightly at Kíli, who shakes his head. “Good, good. The Urs Steakhouse is excellent — best prime cuts on the Lonely Isle — and we’ll go for fireworks later, they usually put on a good show at nine, thirty minutes before the last ferry — really must go now, will talk at dinner, bye!”

And he is gone, striding through one of the holograms as he does so, and he can’t help but feel a curling sense of guilt deep in his gut as he takes the side exit out to where his sedan and his guard Dwalin await him.

* * *

“Indâd’s forgotten us,” Kíli laments. Fíli sighs, watching the retreating form of their uncle through the Visitor’s Centre.

“He’s a busy man with lots of big important things,” he says drily.

“He promised Amad he’d take care of us,” says Kíli, with the petulance of someone still clinging onto a long-disproven hope.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” says Fíli, and Kíli turns to him with a quizzical expression. Fíli continues, “after all, do we really want Uncle Stick-in-the-Mud following us around all day telling us what we can or cannot do?”

Kíli considers it, and then sends a look towards Balin, who has answered his mobile and is certainly not paying attention to them. He shakes his head.

Fíli grins. “We’ve got the run of the park, right? We’re VIP guests. We just gotta give Balin the slip, and then we’re free to do whatever we’d like until dinner.”

Kíli’s face breaks into a grin as well. “Can we go see the thing in the lagoon?” he asks.

Fíli nods. “You betcha we’ll go see the thing in the lagoon.”

* * *

The containment paddock housing Smaug is still bustling with construction workers this close to the exhibit’s opening.

“We keep building higher and higher,” Dwalin remarks as Thorin’s sedan pulls up to the paddock’s front gate. “If the creature is that dangerous, why create her in the first place?”

“Do you really think I had a choice?” asks Thorin, frowning up at the enclosure as he kills the ignition. “The public’s not going to come to see something tame, even if we cooked it up ourselves. They want our dinosaurs bigger. Better. With more bite.”

“Why isn’t the public content with just T-Rexes anymore? They’ve got bite enough,” wonders Dwalin, rolling his eyes.

Thorin shrugs, exiting the car and looking up at the paddock with a sigh and his hands on his hips. He really shouldn’t have worn a black suit; the sun beating down on him today is particularly brutal. “That’s the problem, isn’t it, Dwalin?” he asks his old friend with a wry chuckle. “ _We’re_ never not in awe of these creatures, you and I. They make us humble. Make us remember what we’ve lost.”

Dwalin nods, his head inclined in memory.

“But the consumer public out there in the park right now, attending the shows and riding the attractions? They’ve done what we thought was impossible and grown complacent with the dinosaurs we’ve offered them. So if we’re to keep them coming, we need to offer new things.”

“And the first thing you think to offer is Miss Death-on-Legs,” deadpans Dwalin. Thorin rolls his eyes, striding away from his guard and towards the observation deck of the enclosure.

The observation deck offers a view into the enclosure divided by extremely thick and strong glass. Inside the enclosure a lush jungle blooms, though the beauty is tempered somewhat by the sight of blood splattered in the grass from Smaug’s most recent meal.

“Looks like she’s been fed already,” Thorin remarks as Dwalin steps onto the deck just a couple paces behind. He can hear a sharp intake of breath. “We’ve had to resort to feeding her with a crane after she almost took off the arm of one of the handlers, and the others threatened to quit if I could not guarantee their safety.”

“Brutal girl,” remarks Dwalin, his voice quiet as he stares into the enclosure.

Between the thick fronds of the trees and the interplay of light and shadow within the enclosure, there is a flash of red and gold, and a growl that sends shivers down Thorin’s spine.

“Mahal preserve us,” mutters Dwalin, and Thorin is inclined to agree, his head craning upwards to take in the impressive breadth that their Calamitasaurus has grown to. Dr Curunír and his team have truly outdone themselves.

“Forty feet long already, with more room to grow. You think this’ll scare the kids?” Thorin asks.

Dwalin snorts. “I think you’ll give their _parents_ nightmares, too.” Slowly, warily, the guard begins to examine the glass of each of the observation panes, his gaze constantly darting back to the cunning amber eye following his movements.

Thorin watches the two of them, fidgeting with his hands behind his back.

“Think she can see me?” Dwalin asks, his breath fogging up the glass as he watches the red and gold scales flicker in the shadows.

“Dr Curunír says she can sense thermal radiation,” says Thorin.

Dwalin hums, and then pauses. “Feisty one. She wants out of her cage.” He points, and Thorin follows to see several cracks in the glass, circling out like a spiderweb from where one of Smaug’s claws must have tried to pierce the glass. “I think you might want to fix that up before you send guests in here.”

Thorin grimaces. “I’ll get that looked at,” he agrees as he turns to leave. “We have some of the best structural engineers in Middle-earth working on this paddock. It’ll be quite safe.”

“Famous last words of your own grandfather, Thorin,” Dwalin says. Thorin grimaces. “You might want another opinion.”

Thorin freezes and doesn’t respond, so Dwalin presses on:

“Someone to check for other vulnerabilities in the paddock that others might miss.”

“Why would I want to do that?” asks Thorin quietly, not turning around. Dwalin chuckles.

“I might have had experience with old Azog back in the days of your grandfather’s park, Thorin, but this is something clever, something dangerous, something new. And you’ll need _someone_ with experience with clever, dangerous things. _Someon_ e new.”

Someone not bogged down by the tragedies of the past, Thorin knows. Someone who’s been here long enough to know how to handle clever dinosaurs, yet new enough not to be nursing the scars from the last time a pack of clever dinosaurs had the run of the park. Dwalin might as well have said his name aloud; Mahal _knows_ Thorin’s had a history with this someone before.  

“Who do you recommend?” he asks.

“Bilbo Baggins,” says Dwalin, and Thorin can feel his cheeks heating in vindication.

* * *

The sun filters in through dense foliage. All around, the buzzing of insects fill the air with the steady thrum of life.

Then with an almighty crash and squeal, a pig comes tearing through the undergrowth, followed closely by the rapid skittering of claws against the ground. The pig squeals in terror as it picks up speed; the safety of the holding pen is so close and its pursuers are gaining.

Closer and closer come the claws, and the pig tries so desperately to flee —

“Hold!”

The skittering stops, and the pig vanishes into the safety of its pen. Its pursuers grind to a halt, all four sets of deadly claws tapping impatiently against the jungle floor. Low, angry growls issue from feathered throats, as the four Velociraptors look around wildly for their escaped prey.

“Eyes on me!” says the voice that compelled the Raptors to stop, and they obey this new command as well, craning their heads upwards to see their pack leader, his clicker in hand and his stance brooking no argument. At the sight of him, the Raptors growl in recognition and dismay that their Alpha has thwarted them from successfully hunting down the pig.

“Frodo!” snaps their Alpha, pointing to their pack Beta, Frodo, who’s been hungrily eying the door where the pig had escaped. “Watch it — Pippin!” This is directed at the youngest of the group, whose growling had grown particularly loud and vicious at the departure of their prey. “Don’t give me that, Pip.”

A slightly smaller growl.

“I know we’re hungry, girls. I am, too, to be honest. But let’s just — Merry! Lock it up!” Another click. Merry hisses, but remains still. “Good, good! We’re moving now!”

And with a click, the Raptors follow their Alpha, who is striding along the catwalk above their paddock towards the big silver bucket. Food. They move into position, with Frodo at the head.

“Hold!” exclaims their Alpha, one hand out in the gesture they’ve come to recognise as ‘stop’. With a growl (and a couple of snaps between Merry and Frodo), the four Raptors come to a halt and look up expectantly at their Alpha.

“Good. Very good, girls. See, Pip, when you behave, you get fed. Here —” and their Alpha reaches into the bucket and tosses a rat to Pippin, who catches it with a snap and an appreciative growl. “And one for you, Merry —” another rat for Merry, who jumps a little to catch it, “and you, Sam —” one more rat for Sam, who growls out her thanks as she catches it, “and — Frodo?”

Frodo looks up at her Alpha, who is holding a rat and looking expectantly at her.

“Frodo, my girl, this one’s for you,” he says, and Frodo snaps up the rat in mid-air. The four of them look at their Alpha expectantly as soon as they are fed; he has his hand up in the ‘stop’ gesture again.

“Eyes up!” The Raptors crane their necks almost in unison, watching their Alpha’s hand. “Good. And… go!”

With the drop of his hand, the Raptors race off, screeching and shouting as they chase one another around their enclosure. Their Alpha takes a deep breath, and grins at the sound of laughter at his side.

“Bilbo! Bilbo, that was excellent!” Bofur, the assistant Raptor trainer, comes striding onto the catwalk, enfolding Bilbo in a bear hug. “You finally did it!”

“Took them long enough,” says Bilbo, though there’s not much malice in his voice as he watches the Raptors hissing and running below, feathers glinting in the morning sun. “Probably should not have named them after my cousins and their friend; they’re proving to be just as unruly!”

“Baggins!” There’s another shout, and moments later a tall, imposing man with what seems to be a permanent smirk on his face comes striding over as well. “I had feared that Dr Grey had hired the wrong people for the job, but it seems that you’ve succeeded in getting them to eat out of your hand after all. Excellent work.”

“You came on a good day, Mr Angmar,” replies Bilbo with a shrug. “It’s not always a pretty sight.”

“Is that why you haven’t been sending in reports for the past three months?” wonders Angmar with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“We’ve been busy,” snaps Bofur, and Bilbo sends him an appreciative glance.

“What do you need, Mr Angmar?” he asks as pleasantly as he can. To be honest, Angmar’s constant smirking tends to grate on his nerves on a good day, and unsettle him on a bad one.

The answer is immediate. “A field test.”

Bilbo groans and turns away. It’s this request again. As the head of the security division of ArkCorp, Angmar seems singularly determined to incorporate the Raptors into some sort of defense-related gambit that’s sure to fail. The bond that he and Bofur share with the Velociraptors is not an easily-won one, and some days still feel as if they are just waiting to bite his face off.

“These are wild animals, Mr Angmar,” he says. “Trust me, you don’t want them in the field.” With that, he tries to walk away; unfortunately for him, Angmar strides right beside him, towering over him. Bilbo had never been the tallest in any group (except his Raptors) but this was surely adding insult to injury.

“They obey you, Baggins!” hisses Angmar as they head for the perimetre of the enclosure. “It’s time we took the research you’ve provided for ArkCorp and turned it into real-world applications.”

“Real-world —” begins Bilbo, and then cuts off, crossing his arms. Below him, the Raptors are fighting over something, if the screams are of any indication. “Mr Angmar, what part of ‘wild animal’ do you not understand?”

“These ones are not wild. They take orders.”

“I _imprinted_ on them!” exclaims Bilbo. “Bofur and I have raised them. We share a bond, all of us. They are not answerable to anyone, especially not you and your ArkCorp security goons.”

“But that’s the beauty of it, Baggins. Today I saw that bond at work, that bond between being and beast. The applications of such a connection are infinite, especially in regards to security. Imagine all the lives you’d save.”

Bilbo shakes his head, sending a look at Bofur who has just strode up to him. Bofur laughs.

“Typical Angmar. We finally make some progress with the girls and his first reaction is to turn ‘em into _weapons_?”

Bilbo grimaces. “Most weapons won’t eat you if you forget to feed it,” he adds. Angmar draws himself up a little, looking decidedly more ruffled.

“These creatures have _millions_ of years of instinct in their cells,” he says, gesturing to the Raptors below. From what Bilbo can see, it seems that Frodo has won the tussle for whatever they had been fighting over before. “It is up to us to figure out which ones we want to bring out in the programming. Their loyalty _cannot_ be bought.”

Bofur chortles. “And what if they decide not to obey?” he demands.

“Then we terminate the rogues and keep only the loyal bloodlines,” retorts Angmar. Revulsion churns in Bilbo’s stomach at the very thought, but Bofur seems to find it outlandishly hilarious, as he bursts into laughter and strides away, shaking his head.

Bilbo shrugs, trying to tamp down the queasy curling in his gut as he looks at Angmar, whose eyes are narrowed in calculation as he looks down at Pippin, who seems to be temporarily distracted by an insect flying around her head.The sight brings just the faintest of smiles to Bilbo’s face.

“You don’t learn anything beyond whatever suits your little schemes, do you, Mr Angmar?” he asks after a moment. “All of your visits here and you still think that just because you made them, you own them.”

“We _do_ own them,” Angmar points out with a sneer.

“But you don’t control them,” Bilbo replies serenely.

“That can be changed,” retorts Angmar. “Open your eyes, Baggins! We are sitting on a mithril mine of opportunity, and Thorin Durin is using these creatures for what purpose? Nothing else than entertaining small children!”

“He wants to teach people some humility,” says Bilbo with a wry smile at the mention of the park owner’s name. “He’s lost family members to this park. He’s not going to let you lot use his dinosaurs to cause more bloodshed.”

Angmar cackles at that, and Bilbo rather wishes he’d stop. “Do you really think the seventh most richest person in Middle-earth is only interested in resurrecting his grandfather’s theme park?” he demands. “Do you even _know_ what other businesses his family owns?”

“How long has ArkCorp been practising this pitch?” wonders Bilbo drily as he unhooks the bucket of rats and heads down the staircase towards the enclosure entrance.

“Since Dr Grey hired you on our behalf to train these Raptors,” retorts Angmar. “Don’t look at me as if you did not know this would come to pass, Baggins. These Raptors are going to replace thousands of soldiers in the next war. They’re going to save lives, doing things that our current defence technology cannot hope to achieve.”

“I will not expose my Raptors to war,” hisses Bilbo, as he steps into the enclosure’s antechamber and slams the gate shut between him and Angmar. The other man is undeterred, leaning with a smirk on the bars, eyes glinting as they watch Bilbo set down the bucket near the Raptors’ head harnesses.

“I know a soldier when I see one, Baggins, and your Raptors have war singing in their veins,” he replies. “In nature, the struggle of survival is a war against all else. And in struggle, greatness is forged.”

Bilbo scowls, stepping closer to the bars. “Do you hear yourself when you talk?” he demands. Angmar’s mouth curls into a truly draconian smirk in response.

“This is going to happen,” he says, his voice icy. “Whether you will it or not.”

Bilbo is about to respond to that when the cry goes out.

* * *

“Come on, Fee, just hold me up for this photo!”

“You’re too heavy,” snaps Fíli. Next to him, Kíli bounces like a petulant rabbit.

“I’m not that heavy,” he protests, “and you wouldn’t let me ride the triceratops.”

“They’re for little kids,” grumbles Fíli.

“Please? I think I’m short enough for the triceratops!”

“No.”

Kíli pouts. “What about the spinning dinosaur eggs? Can we go on those again?”

“ _Absolutely not_ ,” says Fíli. The rest of his body has yet to catch up with his stomach from the first time ‘round.

He watches his little brother take more pictures of the dinosaurs. It’s rather astounding, how infinitely patient they are with shrieking children around. His own little brother is a handful, and Kíli’s supposed to be _twelve_.

Still, he wonders if it wasn’t a terribly bad idea to exclude baby carnivorous dinosaurs from this petting zoo. Some of the extremely unruly children certainly deserve a bite or two.

Fíli looks back at their minder, Balin, who is watching the children play with a serene expression on his face. However, the assistant’s mobile rings at that moment, and he answers.

Fíli turns to Kíli. “Come on,” he says.

“What for?” demands Kíli.

Fíli jerks his head in Balin’s direction. Kíli blinks once, twice, before getting the message. A mischievous grin creeps onto his face, before he turns tail and leads his brother out of the petting zoo area.

Main Street is bustling with people everywhere, heading in and out of shops and restaurants. Fountains play in the mid-morning light, jets of water shooting out towards the brilliant blue sky. Families push dinosaur-themed strollers down the street; children frolic past with dinosaur-themed hats, shirts, backpacks, shoes. Someone is selling kettle corn and cold drinks at the nearest stands, and Fíli vaguely contemplates getting an ice lolly before noticing that his brother is already vanishing into the crowds ahead. He sprints to catch up.

_The next feeding of Azog, the Lonely Isle’s 25-year-old Tyrannosaurus Rex, is in two minutes..._

“Come on, Fee, let’s go see Azog!” shouts Kíli over his shoulder, and Fíli groans as he runs along with his brother, following the signs leading towards Tyrannosaurus Rex’s enclosure. His mobile is buzzing in his pocket, possibly a call from someone — probably Mum — but he pays it no mind until they have drawn up to the entrance.

_Parents beware: this show may be disturbing for smaller children..._

Azog. Fíli remembers his mother’s stories about her, about how she had huddled with her brothers beneath a Jeep, hardly daring to breathe for fear that Azog would find them. He’d grown up with tales of the T-Rex’s terrifying roar, sounds that would haunt his own dreams at night.

And now Kíli is clamouring for them to see it. Fíli stifles a laugh at how far they’ve come.

* * *

“Pig loose!” one of the handlers is yelling, and a rather lanky assistant — must be the new boy, Bilbo thinks briefly — rushes by with the hoop.

In the enclosure, a pig had indeed escaped its holding pen, and is making a mad dash for its life around the paddock, followed by the new assistant with the hoop who is trying to recapture it. The assistant has just managed to get the pig looped into his hoop, but at that moment Merry swoops in and snatches the pig away, sending the assistant flying over the railing and into the enclosure itself.

Bilbo rushes to the inner gate to see the assistant fall onto the ground with a loud cry and a thud. The boy’s going to need medical assistance — provided he survives the Velociraptors, who have certainly sensed the arrival of a new morsel in their enclosure.

Hissing and prowling, Frodo and Sam start to advance on the assistant, who is slowly shuffling backwards on his hands and feet, eyes wide in fear. Immediately, Bilbo darts forward, opening the inner gate and crouching down to enter the enclosure.

“Bilbo, no!” Bofur shouts from outside, but Bilbo is already diving through the opening in the gate. Above on the catwalk, several ACU guards aim their taser rifles at the advancing Frodo and Sam.

“No, no, stop it, stop it, right now!” Bilbo shouts at them, clambering to his feet and rushing forward. He skids to a stop just in front of the assistant, facing Frodo and Sam, who turn their heads towards him. “Hold your fire! You shoot those things, and my girls will never trust me again.”

Almost as if in agreement, Frodo hisses. Bilbo holds his hand up in the stop gesture.

“Frodo? Frodo, my girl, stand down.”

He hears behind him the assistant scrambling to safety, possibly with some help from Bofur. Frodo snaps at the air, growling.

Bilbo scowls. “Hey, hey! What did I just say?” Frodo hisses in reply, and Sam moves forward. “Sam, I see you — back up!” Slowly, Bilbo starts moving backwards towards the gate, his palms still out in the stop gesture. “Good, good.”

He turns his head slightly, catching the flicker of Pippin’s green feathers. “I see you, Pip. Stay right where you are.”

Another hiss. It’s almost as if the girls are rebuking him for not letting them get a bite out of the assistant. Bilbo would chuckle at their cheek, if he weren’t trying to keep himself calm. He could learn all there is to know about these Raptors in a year, but they could still surprise him in a pinch.

“Close the gate,” he says.

“Are you mad?” demands Bofur.

“Close the gate!” shrieks the assistant. Bilbo wouldn’t be surprised if the boy had already pissed himself out of fear.

“Just trust me, all right?” he snaps, his eyes never leaving Frodo’s.

Bofur sounds like he’s cursing in Khuzdul, but he complies all the same, and soon Bilbo hears the alarms of the gate sliding downwards behind him. He takes a deep breath, and one more step backwards, away from the advancing Raptors, and then, at the last possible moment, turns and dives back under the gate. There are shrieks of dismay behind him as the Raptors run up against the bars of the antechamber, clearly upset that their Alpha has denied them food once more.

Bofur shakes his head at him as he helps him to his feet. “You’re out of your bloody mind, you,” he rebukes, enfolding Bilbo into a hug. “Are you trying to make it your mission to make me die of a heart attack?”

“Such an idea has never crossed my mind, Bo,” replies Bilbo with much more cheer, before turning to the new assistant. “What’s your name?”

The boy’s face is pale with fright. “O-Ori, sir,” he stammers.

“Ori, you ever wonder why there was a job opening at this paddock?” he asks.

Even the freckles on Ori’s face seem to pale at that. Bilbo sighs, looking the boy up and down.

“Might want to get to Dr Óin to see if anything’s broken,” he remarks. There’s a low, almost smug growl behind them, and Bilbo turns to see Frodo, leering at Ori through the bars. Ori lets out a panicked squeal.

Bilbo nods. “And don’t turn your back to the cage next time. I think the girls like you.”

Ori collapses in a faint at that. Bilbo sighs, and walks over to the phone to summon Dr Óin.

* * *

The Tyrannosaurus Rex enclosure’s observation deck is a giant walkway designed to look like a log in a magnificent forest, surrounded by pines and ferns.

Once inside, Fíli spies his brother pressed up against the pane of one of the giant windows into the enclosure. Crowds of people have already gathered; it seems that Kíli has shoved his way to the front where all the kids are gathered, staring at the goat in the centre of the enclosure.

Someone in the enclosure throws a flare burning bright red towards the goat. There is a pause, and then a mighty roar. The crowd inside goes wild, some people shouting for the T-Rex, others screaming in terror. The ground trembles from the oncoming footsteps of the great beast, and Fíli’s breath is taken away at the brief glimpses he gets of Azog, the Tyrannosaurus Rex responsible for the death of his great-grandfather and uncle.

Mahal, even the scars are still there…

There’s a loud cheer from the visitors assembled as Azog snaps up the goat, followed by several loud clicks of camera lenses and phone cameras as the T-Rex lets out a satisfying roar. Fíli feels his own mobile vibrate again, and he takes it out.

It’s a second missed call from his mother. He sighs, and calls back.

“Amad?”

“You were supposed to call me when you landed,” Dís’s voice is gentle yet accusing.

“Sorry, I was busy.”

“Was it with Sigrid?” His mother’s voice is teasing. Fíli feels his face flush.

“It’s really none of your business,” he complains.

“And it’s not every day that my young man finds his One.”

“She’s not my — Amad, that’s such an old-fashioned — we’re friends. Very good friends. I don’t — It’s complicated.”

“I understand, sweetie.” Her voice is soft, wistful. Probably thinking about Dad, and how he’d passed far too soon for their liking. “It’s pretty confusing at your age.”

Fíli groans, scrubs at his eyes. “Don’t you have, like, a business meeting to go to or something?” he demands, with no small amount of petulance.

“Well, I couldn’t go without checking up on you. Are you two having fun? Is Kee enjoying the dinosaurs?”

“Yeah,” says Fíli. “Indâd gave us these wristbands so we don’t have to wait in line.”

There’s a pause. When his mother speaks up again, her voice is icy.

“He’s not with you?”

* * *

It really just isn’t Thorin’s day.

His mobile rings when he’s on his way through the dense Easterling jungle towards the Velociraptor enclosure. He’s just dropped off Dwalin back at the park, and is now setting out to consult with Bilbo Baggins. It’s been a horrid morning for him, and on top of it, he’s now got a phone call from Dís to answer. Dís, whose sons he’s left in Balin’s care at the park.

He sighs, and picks up.

“Sister of mine, how can I help?” he asks.

“How are the boys?” she asks.

Thorin freezes for a moment, looking with a slight hint of contrition in the rear view mirror to the backseat of his sedan, where his nephews are most decidedly not sitting.

“They’re fine,” he lies through gritted teeth. “We’re showing them around the park. They’ve had a lot of fun.”

“That’s really interesting,” says Dís drily, “considering that I just got off the phone with Fíli and he says you simply left him and Kíli with one of your handlers —”

Thorin groans. “My _assistant_ Balin is perfectly capable of taking care of them,” he says, and he knows immediately that that’s the wrong thing to say, because he hears a sharp intake of breath on the other end.

“This was supposed to be a family bonding trip,” his sister hisses a moment later. “You’re supposed to bond with them yourself, not stick the two of them with your poor assistant! Whatever happened to being with family, Thorin? Or has the park swallowed up all of that for you?”

“You’re starting to sound like Grandmum,” Thorin growls.

“So I am.” There’s a pause, a small sigh. Thorin tries hard not to remember. The tragedy on the Lonely Isle all those years ago is just it. A thing of the past. Not something to haunt his dreams most nights. All of his grandfather’s research has come to fruition now, with Erebor finally becoming the commercial success it had always meant to be. Dinosaurs have always captured the public’s imagination, and now that they have the ability to make completely new ones —

He shakes his head. “I will take tomorrow off and spend the entire day with them, Dee, I promise,” he says, and he hears a small laugh on the other end.

“A promise for tomorrow is never as good as an attempt today.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like _Mum_ ,” he chides her.

Another laugh. “You work too hard, Thorin.”

“This park was Grandfather’s dream.” The words come out a little more clipped than he’d like, but it’s the truth, no matter how many times he has to remind her of it. “He never saw it realised. I’m just trying to do good by him. By the family.”

“But what about you?” Dís wonders, just as Thorin’s sedan pulls up to the cosy little smial dug into the hillside by the small, sparkling lake. Thorin has to laugh drily at his sister’s timing. “When’s the last time you tried to do good by yourself?”

Thorin kills the ignition then, and looks out the window. Bilbo Baggins is puttering in his garden, a straw hat perched on his honey-coloured curls and the afternoon light settling softly on his kind features. Thorin sighs.

“I’ll talk to you later, Dee,” he says, and hangs up before he can hear her reply. With a sigh, Thorin tucks the mobile in his trouser pocket as he steps out of the sedan. Bilbo has straightened up from his gardening now, his hands on his hips as he regards Thorin with a wry expression.

“Mr Baggins,” begins Thorin, though he falters a little at how Bilbo raises an eyebrow at him for that mode of address. “I need you to examine something.”

“Since when did you call me Mr Baggins?” asks Bilbo. Thorin resists the urge to groan. Typical. One failed dinner date in Dorwinion, and the man still expects to be on a first name basis.

“Since you were employed, _Mr Baggins_ , by my company as the lead behavioural researcher for the Velociraptors,” he says. Bilbo shrugs.

“I would think, since that was at least a year ago, that we would be on better terms since,” he remarks.

Thorin grits his teeth. “I was not the one who refused to cooperate on our date,” he snaps.

“Cooperation? On a date? Thorin, do you know how absolutely barmy you sound? You’re the one who showed up with a contract for our potential relationship, after all, as if dating someone was as perfunctory as a business transaction!”

“Mr Baggins —”

“Bilbo,” interrupts Bilbo.

“ _Bilbo_ ,” grinds out Thorin through gritted teeth. “Can we get back to the issue at hand? ArkCorp has recently created a new species of dinosaur —”

“ _Created_?” echoes Bilbo, almost in disbelief. Thorin resists the urge to snort.

“In case you weren’t aware, Mr Bag — _Bilbo_ ,” Thorin can very clearly feel the vein pulsing in his forehead the longer he looks at Bilbo’s triumphant grin, “creating dinosaurs is _kind of_ what we do here. And with this new attraction opening in a couple of weeks, I have thus decided to consult with you.”

“Consult with me?” Bilbo's grin is mischievous. “Your place or mine, then?”

Thorin scowls. “That’s not funny.”

“What were you hoping to consult with me about, then?” Bilbo chuckles, taking off his straw hat and wiping at his brow. Thorin tries very hard not to stare at the soft fall of golden curls into Bilbo’s eyes.

“I would like you to examine the new asset’s containment pen for vulnerabilities,” he says. Bilbo nods, pursing his lips as he begins to walk past Thorin towards the door of the smial.

“And why me?” he asks over his shoulder. Thorin turns to watch him drop his gardening tools on the picnic table just outside the bright green door.

“Because of your experience in controlling the Velociraptors —”

“Control? Is that what you think is going on between me and the Velociraptors?” Bilbo cocks his head at Thorin, eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline. “It’s not all control and command with the Velociraptors, you know. There’s a relationship between us. A _bond_ , based on mutual respect.” He pauses, hazel eyes examining Thorin’s face a little too intently. Thorin can feel his cheeks flaring with heat. “Probably why you and I wouldn’t work out anyway.”

Thorin snorts. “Can we get back to the asset at hand, _please_?”

“The _asset_?” Bilbo shakes his head, striding closer to Thorin. Thorin swallow, taking one step back at the expression on Bilbo’s face. “Thorin, these are _living creatures_ we’re talking about!”

“I am fully aware that these animals are alive, Mr Baggins,” snaps Thorin.

Bilbo laughs drily. “I know it’s easier for you to think of them as statistics and numbers for your presentations and whatnot, but they are so much more than that! You may have brewed them up in test tubes, but _they_ don’t know that, do they? They are creatures with heartbeats, with instincts, with _wants_ and _needs_. They need food. Water. _Companionship_.” He pauses, and grins up at Thorin almost slyly, and Thorin swallows hard at how hard his heart is beating in response. “Surely you’re familiar with at least _two_ of those needs, Thorin.”

Thorin nods brusquely, nodding towards the sedan. “I’m sure the rest of your morality speech is endlessly thought-provoking and fascinating, Mr Baggins, but there is still a containment pen to investigate.” He pauses, letting his eyes wander along Bilbo’s shorter body, covered in a thin sheen of sweat from his gardening and his work with the Raptors in the morning, and tries to control the racing of his heart. “I’ll be in the car. Please change your shirt; she’s quite sensitive to smell.”

And with that, he moves away, feeling way too hot in the suit as he strides back to the sedan.

* * *

Thorin keeps his eyes very determinedly fixed on the road ahead as he drives them to the new asset’s paddock. Bilbo watches him from the passenger seat, raising an eyebrow at the man’s impeccably-pressed black suit.

“Isn’t that the wrong attire for this kind of weather?” he asks after a moment.

“I keep the AC running on high in this vehicle,” retorts Thorin. Bilbo harrumphs, feeling goosebumps prickle along his skin from the excessive cold air. Seems like Thorin is, indeed, getting overheated.

He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t let his eyes wander over Thorin the moment the park owner appeared at his smial. Thorin Durin is as impeccably and unreachably beautiful as ever, his skin kissed brown by the Eastern sun and his few new streaks of grey hair adding a certain dignity to his expression that Bilbo absolutely adores. And the beard, of course — Thorin keeps his well-trimmed, and even to this day Bilbo wonders what it’d be like to touch it. Would it be as soft as Frodo’s feathers, or more rough and bristly like Merry’s?

Of course, the moment they started interacting, Bilbo had been reminded why he’d never actually called for that second date.

Still, it’s good to see the man in good health. Bilbo’s not one to wish ill upon his (admittedly few) exes and failed dates, and though the owner of Erebor Prehistoric Wildlife World is a complete and utter prat, he’s not about to break the pattern. Considering all the dinosaurs roaming around, it might bode ill for him in return.

“So,” says Bilbo after a moment. “What’s this new attraction that you want me to inspect?”

“The Calamitasaurus Dominus,” replies Thorin.

“What a mouthful,” remarks Bilbo, laughing.

“We call her Smaug.”

“Charming,” replies Bilbo. “What’s she made of?”

Thorin purses his lips. “Dr Curunír and his team say that Smaug uses the Tyrannosaurus Rex as a base, with some DNA from Carnotaurus, Gigantosaurus, Therizinosaurus — as well as some modern animal DNA as well, such as the Haradrim tree frog, which means she is capable of sensing heat signatures,” he says, tapping at his steering wheel. “She’s about forty feet currently, and we haven’t weighed her yet.”

“I don’t think anyone’s too keen to get her on a scale. She’ll eat anyone who disparages her weight,” remarks Bilbo. He grins at the smile that tugs at the corner of Thorin’s mouth, but the man is quick to tamp it down, turning his attentions back to the road.

They pull up at the Calamitasaurus’s paddock moments later, and Thorin leads the way up the stairs to the observation deck for the paddock. The guard on duty is seated in front of several monitors, looking surprisingly bored for someone surveilling the park’s new and dangerous designer dinosaur.

“Amongst our thousands of pre-bookings, we’re scheduled to open the exhibit with many of Middle-earth’s most notable people in attendance,” says Thorin as Bilbo looks out the window at the enclosure below. “This includes the Royal Family of Gondor and the Dean of the Rivendell Institute of Technology at Karningul University, not to mention the Managing Director of Esgaroth Telecom, the company that is officially sponsoring this attraction.”

“Do these kinds of people usually show up for new attractions, or is Smaug one-of-a-kind?” asks Bilbo, peering into the foliage. There seems to be nothing moving in the shadows; where could a 40-foot-long dinosaur possibly be hiding in this place?

“We always have to reinvigorate the public’s interest in this park every one or two years,” replies Thorin with a shrug. “It’s not unlike the Meneldur space programme in Gondor. The people of Middle-earth deserve to see the end products of our research, and genetic modification would certainly increase the awe factor.”

“They’re dinosaurs. Isn’t that enough _awe_ for you?” demands Bilbo.

“Not according to the focus groups,” replies Thorin, turning to the guard. “Can we get a steer dropped, please?”

There’s the whirring sound of a feeding crane. Bilbo’s gut curls a little at the sound; a feeding crane certainly suggests isolation of some sort, which is never a good sign for a large animal in a small enclosure. “How long has she been in here?” he asks, watching a giant slab of beef appear on the feeding crane to be lowered into the enclosure.

“All of her life,” replies Thorin coolly. Bilbo grimaces: really bad sign.

“And she’s never seen anything outside these walls?” he asks.

“We cannot exactly _walk_ her, if that was what you were wondering,” Thorin deadpans.

Bilbo snorts. “And you feed her with a crane. This just gets better and better.”

Thorin’s eyes narrow at him. “Do you have some sort of objection to how we are raising this asset, Mr Baggins?”

“There you go with the ‘asset’ thing again. It’s _isolating_ , Thorin,” snaps Bilbo, running a hand through his hair as he watches the meat dangle from the crane, dripping blood onto the grass. “Animals bred in isolation are not exactly the most well-adjusted creatures. Remember the Dilophosaurus?”

Thorin visibly shudders at that. Bilbo himself had only heard of the incident with Sméagol, the recaptured Dilophosaurus, but it only serves to prove his point. Everything he’s seeing right now is a recipe for disaster.

“I’ll thank you not to bring that up again,” Thorin says through gritted teeth. “Aren’t your Raptors bred in captivity?”

“As a pack, with their siblings,” replies Bilbo. “Does Smaug have a sibling?”

“At one point,” replies Thorin. “We hatched two. You can guess which one ate the other one.”

Bilbo raises both eyebrows, before directing his attention back to the glass. “Not very fond of siblings, then,” he mutters, noting that the creature had yet to show itself even in the face of dinner. “No wonder she’s not learning social skills. Does she have a trainer?”

“Her handlers try to avoid her after she started attacking them.”

“Stellar personality,” deadpans Bilbo. “Seems like the only positive relationship she has in her life is with her food crane.”

Thorin snorts. “Are you suggesting we set her up on playdates with all the other children?” he intones drily.

“I don’t think that’d be such a great idea,” says Bilbo, a little more quietly as his breath fogs up the glass of the enclosure. “Where is she?”

“I have no idea,” replies Thorin, rapping his knuckles against the glass. Bilbo grimaces at that, but makes no comment about it.

“Is she hiding from her guests in the pantry?” he wonders. “Maybe there’s a nice library downstairs, and she’s stuck in there instead. She certainly seems intelligent enough. What do you think, Thorin? Where is she?”

Thorin huffs, walking over to one of the panels and running a thermal scan. Bilbo watches him, an eyebrow raised in expectation.

He blinks at the first sound of the negative result on the screens. No thermal signatures detected. Gut sinking even further, Bilbo paces the length of the deck, wringing his hands behind his back to hide the fact that he’s a lot less composed than he looks.

“Giver help us,” he murmurs, when he happens to notice something along one of the walls of the paddock.

“What’s going on?” mutters Thorin from behind him.

“I don’t understand,” adds the guard, suddenly showing much more interest in the monitors and their ominous results. “Those doors haven’t been opened in a week.”

“Thorin,” says Bilbo suddenly, and Thorin crosses the deck to follow Bilbo’s gaze. Bilbo looks at him and notices that the man’s knuckles are white.

“Have those always been there?” he asks, his voice soft.

For a brief moment, the pallor of Thorin’s face makes Bilbo worry that he’s going to faint just like Ori. But the man quickly regains control of himself again, striding towards the door of the observation deck instead.

“She has an implant in her back. I can track it from the control room,” he says as he reaches the door, and Bilbo doesn’t watch him leave this time as he turns his gaze back to the walls of the paddock, and the scratch marks reaching up to about forty feet that have been left on it.

* * *

Thorin doesn’t hesitate to call the control room the instant he’s in his sedan, speeding back towards the park as fast as he dares.

Bard picks up on the third ring as Thorin is winding his way through the jungle once more. “Mr Durin,” he says, his voice carefully neutral. “The map says there’s an issue at Paddock Eleven.”

“We have a code nineteen. I repeat, a code nineteen,” snaps Thorin. “Put ACU on alert. Now. This is not a drill.”

“Done,” comes the voice of Hilda from a little farther away.

“And get me coordinates on the Calamitasaurus.”

There’s a pause. Thorin waits with baited breath.

* * *

The door leading into the paddock slides open, and Bilbo and the guard enter. A construction worker is already examining the scratch marks along the wall. Bilbo follows suit, one hand running over the groove in the concrete.

“The wall’s forty feet high,” the guard says quietly. “Do you think she’d have climbed over?”

“It depends,” says Bilbo.

“On what?” wonders the guard.

Bilbo shakes his head, and takes a step back to take in the scratches. There’s something off about them, but he can’t quite point his finger on it. The Took side of him — the side that agreed to this madcap job offer from Gandalf in the first place — would call this feeling the ‘lucky instinct’. The Baggins side would simply declare that all feelings of dread could be chased away with a good cuppa.

And Giver help him, he’s gasping for a cuppa.

Bilbo looks at the guard, and then back up at the scratches.

“Depends on what genes the scientists decided to activate when they designed this beast,” he says.

* * *

“Wait,” says Bard, and his voice breaks up a little over a patch of bad signal. Thorin growls, resisting the urge to fling his mobile through his front window.

“What was that?” he demands as soon as the static clears. “Again, Mr Archer, please!”

“It’s in the cage,” says Bard.

Thorin blinks. “That’s not possible, Mr Archer. I was just there! The thermal scans came up negative.”

“And I’m telling you, Mr Durin, that _she’s in the cage_ ,” insists Bard.

Thorin’s mind races. If Smaug is indeed still in the cage, then they have nothing to fear. But if Smaug had, perhaps, somehow managed to mess with the tracking —

“Wait a moment. There are people in the cage!” Bard’s voice is panicked. “Mr Durin —”

“Get them out of there now,” says Thorin, his voice low and urgent, his heart sinking in his chest. The responding silence only makes it worse. “ _Now!_ ”

Bilbo’s in that paddock with Smaug, and just the thought of it sends Thorin spiralling back into memories of running in the rain to roars close behind, and the sound of Frerin’s scream just before Azog snapped him up in her jaws. His knuckles are white against the steering wheel as he turns the sedan around and races back to Smaug’s paddock.

He’s not going to have Bilbo’s death on his hands, too. Not if he can help it.


	2. Chapter 2

_Paddock Eleven, this is Control, you need to — KRRZHRT — Paddock Eleven, do you — KRRZZHRT —_

The radio attached to the hip of the guard is spurting out some sort of message, as garbled as it is by all of the static. Bilbo frowns, his own suspicions rising as the guard answers the radio.

“Paddock Eleven. What’s the problem?”

 _It’s in the cage! It’s in there with you!_ The woman’s voice on the other end of the radio is panicked, and immediately Bilbo and the construction worker make a dash for the door.

There’s the slithering noise of a body moving through foliage, and then the stomp of feet against the ground. Bilbo feels ice running down his spine as he slowly looks up through the trees to find a wicked amber eye glinting at him, rapidly followed by the body of one of the largest dinosaurs he has ever seen.

If it could be called a dinosaur.

The Calamitasaurus is a hulking beast with the general body of a T-Rex, but it seems as if Dr Curunír and his scientists have somehow successfully managed to activate every single predator gene they could find on all the animals they’d combined to create this monster. The teeth are massive, the horns sharp and sinister, and the claws. Oh, he’s definitely going to have nightmares about those claws.

The worst part is, the beast seems to know exactly where they were headed, and has placed itself right between them and the door.

Clever girl. Clever, cunning, _evil_ girl.

Bilbo promptly turns tail and scurries towards the gates where the security guard is opening them. He doesn’t dare to look behind, not with the creature roaring that ferociously, not with the sound of a scream as the construction worker undoubtedly meets with a painfully messy end. He runs on, lungs burning from the exertion; he’s racing for his life towards the gates, which are opening to let the guard through, and closing —

He leaps. He squeezes through, though he’s not so sure he can say the same for any buttons he might have had on him. He’s in the clear, and running — everyone is running, clearing out — there’s an almighty crash. Bilbo skids to the side of a truck and dives underneath it, pressing himself low, willing himself to remain quiet.

Smaug has gotten caught in the gate.

And with a low, contemptuous growl, Smaug frees herself of the gate.

It’s days like this that Bilbo wishes he had some way of turning himself invisible. But of course, Thorin had mentioned that Smaug could sense heat. And knowing some of the dinosaurs that were part of the genetic cocktail in the beast’s DNA, probably a very keen sense of smell as well.

Oh, Smaug would remember his scent, all right. And no invisibility-granting magic ring was going to save him from being _smelt_.

Invisible. _Invisible_. It’s hard to think, with the growling and the shouting and the loud pounding of his own heart hammering in his chest. Bilbo notices the security guard, who had evidently been a little too big for the crawlspace under his car, hiding by the grille instead. Bloke’s going to make it to dinnertime, but not _his_ dinnertime.

He keeps his eyes trained on the dinosaur. Smaug’s gone for the easier victim first, but she’ll be back, and in the meantime, he needs to be quiet.

There’s a pause, a breath. Bilbo wonders what’s going through the head of the guard. His family? His friends? His impending painful death? Of course there’s not much time for speculation, not with the Calamitasaurus flinging away the car the guard had been hiding behind like she is discarding some used toy, not with that final look the two of them share before the beast snaps the guard up as well.

And Bilbo’s next.

* * *

Thorin kills the engine the instant he hears the roar.

“What’s going on?” he hisses into his mobile, where the Control Room is still on the line and he can dimly hear the carnage through the phone as well. “ _Tell me what’s happening_!”

“It’s escaped the cage.” Bard’s voice is grim. Thorin’s heart beats faster at that.

“Escaped,” he states, still trying to grasp that any of this is happening at all. How could this have happened again? _How_?

The ground in the distance trembles. Thorin listens in, crouched low in his vehicle as he strains to hear the events happening outside Smaug’s enclosure.

“It’s overturned the truck and eaten security guard Bolger,” says Bard.

“What about _Baggins_. Is Mr Baggins visible?” demands Thorin.

“No,” answers Hilda. Thorin exhales. That could mean a great deal of things. Best case: Bilbo’s hiding. Worst case: He’s been eaten.

Thorin fervently hopes it’s not the worst case.

* * *

Invisible. _Invisible_. He can see the nostrils of the Calamitasaurus flaring as it inhales his scent. If he wants to be invisible to someone with a keen sense of smell —

Bilbo grabs his little knife, Sting, and slashes one of the fuel pipes on the underside of the car. The scent of petrol makes him gag, and he’ll have to make sure not to walk near any bonfires for a while, but he is eventually coated in the material from head to toe.

Now to play dead.

The stomping begins again. There’s a growl. And Bilbo doesn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know that the Calamitasaurus is right next to him. He doesn’t dare turn, and barely dares to breathe.

The growling increases. Out of the corner of his eye, Bilbo sees the enormous red-gold snout of the Calamitasaurus hovering next to him, every single wickedly sharp tooth in that hideous mouth shining with blood.

He swallows, and lies still, and waits.

There’s a long, protracted inhale, as if Smaug is trying to determine what the odd-smelling thing that seems to be half-dinner, half-petrol actually is. Bilbo turns his head away from the Calamitasaurus, wincing as the pungent heat of the dinosaur’s breath wafts over him. He closes his eyes, hoping to the Giver that his death will be swift and relatively painless.

There is a roar, and a slow stomp of feet. Bilbo cracks an eye open, hardly daring to hope. But it’s true: Smaug is moving on past him. He has survived.

For now.

* * *

In the Control Room, Bard looks across at Hilda, whose expression is stricken.

“It’s going to be all right,” he says, as if that’d comfort her. He thinks back to his own children waiting for him to join them tomorrow in Dale. Bain and Sigrid had been so glad for a change of scenery from the island and their father’s bungalow in the staff housing, and Tilda had been clamouring to see the bell towers of Dale since forever.

He looks through his mobile, rifling through the pictures and messages that they’ve sent him. Sigrid has been telling him about her new friends, and how one of them was coming to the Island this weekend, and Tilda has been sending him photos of the bells, and Bain is telling him to **_get here quicker, Da, we miss you, Professor Greenwood is great but he’s not like you_**.

“Your kids are off the island, aye?” asks Hilda, biting her lip as she looks up at the monitors.

“They’re visiting an old family friend,” says Bard, infinitely thankful that his children chose to leave for Dale this week.

“What’s going on?” Thorin’s voice hisses, crackling with static over the speakerphone. Dwalin steps into the Control Room at that moment, his expression pale with worry as he observes the screen.

“Where are you, Thorin?” he demands.

“I’m almost at the paddock,” says Thorin.

“Are you mad?” Dwalin’s jaw is tight. “I’m going after you.”

“No!” Thorin hisses. “No. Smaug’s out of containment, but I don’t know if she’s headed this way. I’m putting you in charge, Dwalin. You were here the last time, you know what to do.”

“The last time?” asks Hilda. Dwalin shakes his head. She sends a wide-eyed glance toward Bard, who points to his shirt with a shrug. Dwalin glares at him, but returns his attentions back to the screen.

“Do you know where I can get a visual on you, Thorin?” he asks.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” replies Thorin. “I’m a bit off the road right now. I’ll probably be leaving my car in a bit and heading out on foot; the car might attract too much attention.”

“What’s possessed you to head back to the _paddock_?” demands Dwalin.

“Mr Baggins is still there,” snaps Thorin. “I’m not going to leave him, even if he’s a —”

But whatever Thorin thinks the Raptor trainer is is suddenly drowned out by the sound of a significantly loud roar, followed by the sound of an engine starting and the screeching of tires against the ground. Hilda shrieks.

“Mr Durin!” she shouts into her headset. “Mr Durin, is she coming for you? Mr —”

The line goes dead.

Silence falls.

Dwalin swallows the lump in his throat. “Everyone. Remain. Calm,” he says.

“But Mr Durin —”  begins Hilda, and Dwalin shakes his head.

“The Calamitasaurus’s tracking implant will shock it if it gets too close to a perimeter fence,” he says.

“It’s moving very fast,” adds Bard, though his hands are shaking somewhat.

“Should we put out a park-wide alert?” asks Hilda, wiping at her eyes.

“No,” says Dwalin. “Let ACU capture her quietly. There’s no need to send all the guests into a panic just yet; it’ll only make things worse.”

Hilda nods, “All right,” she says.

“That paddock is four miles from the nearest attraction,” continues Dwalin as he stares at the screen. “No one else needs to get hurt.”

“Mild way to describe being eaten,” mutters Bard as he stares at the screen, trying to block the sound of the dead phone line (and possible dead park owner) from his head.

* * *

**_How are the dinos? :)_ **

**_we’ve seen the t rex and now we’re seeing the thing in the lagoon._ **

**_The Mosasaurus?_ **

**_how’d u know that?_ **

**_My da works at the park. He has a bit of a grudge against the Mosasaurus, lol_ **

**_small world then :P my uncle owns the park_ **

**_I kinda figured you were related to Mr Durin haha_ **

“Fee, come on, look, look!” Kíli is tugging at his sleeve again. Fíli looks up reluctantly from his phone just in time to see the keeper moving a shark out to the middle of the lagoon.

“The Mosasaurus,” the keeper is saying, “is a very opportunistic feeder, often lurking at the surface waiting to sink its teeth into all sorts of prey, including turtles, large fish, and even smaller mosasaurs.”

“Nothing’s happening,” says Fíli, his eyes darting back down to his conversation with Sigrid.

“Wait a little, dummy!” exclaims Kíli, moving to snatch Fíli’s mobile away from him, but Fíli evades him, trying to type out a response.  

The keeper is still speaking: “ _Our_ Mosasaurus, Alfrid, is sixty feet long and weighs fifteen tonnes. Now, let’s see if she’s still hungry after having been fed earlier…”

There’s a low growl. The chatter in the stands gets louder. Kíli shakes Fíli, trying to get him to look up.

“Look, look! The Mosasaurus!” shouts Kíli, and Fíli looks up again just as a monstrous _thing_ bursts out of the water with a loud growl, leaping into the air and snatching up the shark in its immense jaws. Fíli’s jaw drops.

The Mosasaurus then flops back into the water with a loud splash that completely drenches the bleachers, including Fíli and Kíli who stare at each other with wide eyes and wider grins.

“It splashed us!!” Kíli exclaims, as the crowd goes wild around them, shouting and applauding. Slowly the bleachers begin to descend, moving into the underwater observatory exhibit for a closer look at the Mosasaurus as it bites up the rest of the shark.

“It’s got a hidden set of teeth to help it grip its prey,” says Kíli as they continue to applaud and watch the Mosasaurus feed.

Fíli laughs. This show has been, admittedly, quite impressive. The Mosasaurus swims away into the blue after eating, its fins held tight to its body to propel it through the water and the light shining iridescent against its numerous small scales. Kíli claps, leaping to his feet as the show ends.

“That was awesome!” he cheers, and for once, Fíli is inclined to agree with him.

“Want to see something else that’s just as awesome?” he asks, and Kíli nods, grinning at him from ear to ear.

* * *

Thorin can’t believe he’s alive.

He doubles around past the perimeter fencing, where the Calamitasaurus has been stunned, and drives off back towards the paddock, wanting to put some distance between himself and Smaug while he still can. Also, Bilbo is still back at the paddock, and he has yet to confirm if the man lives or not.

He veers wide as he pulls up to the paddock, killing the engine and quietly getting out, shucking off his suit jacket and tie and throwing them in the back seat. Quietly and carefully, he bends down to check through the wreckage of the cars and trucks lying in the lot, trying not to grimace at the blood stains from Smaug’s rampage.

There’s a shout, and the undeniable stench of petrol, and Thorin’s heart leaps into his throat when he sees Bilbo emerging from underneath one of the trucks that hadn’t been turned over.

“Bilbo!” he gasps, and he doesn’t care how breathlessly happy he sounds; he’s so amazed that the Raptor trainer is alive at all.

Bilbo, on the other hand, looks much less than thrilled to see him. “What in _Mandos_ happened in that paddock, Thorin? There were thermal cameras all over the place! She could not have just _disappeared_!”

Thorin clears his throat. Of course Bilbo would be upset at him. He’d had a much closer brush with death by Calamitasaurus than Thorin had, though the chase through the jungle on Thorin’s end had been no less terrifying. Not to mention all the horrid memories that driving with a rampaging dinosaur on the tail had brought back to the light. Thorin was lucky he remembered where the nearest perimeter fence had been. Though now he suspects he’s brought Smaug just that little bit closer to the park.

He tamps down the guilt. ACU should be on its way soon.

“There must have been a technical malfunction,” he says smoothly.

“No. That’s not possible. She marked up that wall as a _trick_. She wanted us to _think_ she escaped.”

“And why would she do that?” demands Thorin, opening the passenger door of his sedan. Bilbo stares at him for a moment, but Thorin nods towards the car, and Bilbo clambers in, and Thorin slams the door after him.

Bilbo waits until Thorin’s in the driver’s seat before he gives his reply: “She’s a clever, dangerous animal that’s been isolated in a paddock too small for her, Thorin. Surely you can do the math.”

Thorin frowns at him. “You think she’s playing a game?”

“The Raptors play games,” says Bilbo, as Thorin starts the engine. “You’re not going to buckle up?”

Thorin takes a moment to stare incredulously at him, before fastening his seatbelt. “Of all the things to be concerned about,” he mutters, as he takes them out of the paddock area and back towards the park. His fuel gauge is indicating low levels, and he’d like to be close to Control when his tank is empty.

Bilbo looks ahead as they speed through the trees, his knuckles white on the passenger side handle. “What’s the plan now?” he asks.

“ACU should be trying to contain her,” says Thorin, his own hands gripping the steering wheel with more force than necessary. “I know I left her stunned at one of the perimeter fences a couple miles north of the river —”

“The one with the kayaks?” asks Bilbo. Thorin nods. “Cutting it a little close to the guests, isn’t it?”

“She should be stunned,” replies Thorin briskly. Bilbo chuckles darkly in response.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to assume anything, if I were you.”

* * *

“How fast can they run?”

Bofur looks up from where he’s been stroking Sam’s feathery head to see Angmar, his hands on his hips as he surveys the Velociraptors in their head harnesses.

“Forty miles per hour, fifty if they’re hungry. Why?” he asks, and he can’t help the defensive tone that seeps into his voice. As if in agreement, Sam growls.

Angmar stops in front of Sam, much to her displeasure. “Do you ever take them out to see what they are capable of?” he asks.

“Why would I do such a bleedin’ mad thing like that?” demands Bofur.

“So you would prefer to see these Raptors behind bars all the time?” asks Angmar.

Bofur grits his teeth. “I wouldn’t dare to let any of them loose without Bilbo,” he snaps. “We work as a team. We support the girls together.”

“A very touching family, I’m sure,” sneers Angmar.

“You’d be surprised,” replies Bofur, patting Sam gently on the snout. Sam snorts. “When the girls were hatchlings, Bilbo used to bring them out all the time. He’d let them run wild in his front yard, waded with them in the lake, fed them bits of meat from his hand.” He chuckles a little. “And sometimes, when he would rest in his garden with a pipe of Old Toby, they’d curl up right beside him and go to sleep, like a bunch of feathered puppies.”

“Cute,” Angmar’s expression is unreadable as he stares at Sam with calculating eyes. “What changed, then?” he asks, gesturing to the head harnesses.

Bofur shrugs. “They grew up. They got more dangerous.”

“Did they kill someone?”

Bofur’s expression is hard. “That’s none of your damn business.”

“It is my business. I am head of security for ArkCorp. If these Raptors killed anyone, I have a right to know.”

“And give you further proof that these creatures are no more than savage killing machines just tameable enough for your military endeavours?” Bofur’s glare is steely, and Sam growls as if in agreement. “For all intents and purposes, nothing between us and the girls have changed. We just don’t let them out as much anymore, and for very clear reasons.”

“Reasons like the pig boy from this morning?” Angmar kneels down in front of Sam, who bares her teeth at him. “What do you call this one?”

“Her name’s Sam, and I’ll thank you to refer to her properly,” growls Bofur.

Angmar reaches out, either oblivious to or willfully ignoring Sam’s threatening growls. “Can I…?” he asks.

Bofur shrugs, and Sam lets out a very twisted snarl the instant Angmar’s fingers touch her feathers. The Raptor begins to rattle the harness, clearly agitated. Bofur reaches out to soothe her, whispering quiet words in Khuzdul, making gentle clicking noises. Sam growls, but subsides.

Angmar’s touch is thankfully brief. “Impressive,” he says as he steps back, just as Bofur’s mobile rings. Bofur takes it out, hoping to see a message from Bilbo about where he’s vanished off to. He curses when he reads the actual contents.

“Code Nineteen!” he shouts at the handlers on the catwalks. “Code Nineteen, and we’ve already lost two people!”

“What’s a Code Nineteen?” shouts Ori from his post.

“Asset out of containment” Bofur hollers in reply. “I’d be careful if I were you, laddie!”

Angmar’s expression is unreadable as Bofur turns to see him again. Shaking his head, Bofur opens the door to leave the antechamber of the paddock.

“They never bloody learn,” he mutters, striding to inform the rest of the keepers.

* * *

“The asset’s implant is pinging at about two miles north of the Cuivénen River. Our mission is to contain it and bring it back to its enclosure, preferably unharmed. It has been stunned from being in proximity to the perimeter fencing in that area, but it may still be dangerous.”

Tauriel Greenwood looks up from where she’s been examining her taser rifle. Their group leader, Halbarad, raises an eyebrow at them as he powers up his taser rifle.

“Any questions?” he asks.

“Sir, with all due respect, these weapons are nonlethal,” says one of the team members.

“ArkCorp has put _a lot_ of gold into this asset, Théodenson. We cannot kill it,” replies Halbarad.

“It’s already been stunned,” adds another. “It won’t be that hard to get when it’s down.”

“We’re 400 metres to the beacon,” chips in the driver. Halbarad examines his watch.

“Be on your guard,” he warns. Tauriel sends a look towards Théodenson, who grimaces and shrugs at her. She rolls her eyes, cocking her own rifle as the van they’re sitting in grinds to a halt.

* * *

Bilbo follows Thorin through the doors of the Control Room, his heart racing as he notices the vitals of the ACU team that has been sent out to recapture the Calamitasaurus. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Dwalin enfolding Thorin in a bear hug, demanding to know exactly how he had survived the Calamitasaurus’s pursuit.

Bilbo tunes the story out, eyes trained on the camera feeds showing the containment mission. His gut curls forebodingly when he sees that none of the team members have lethal weapons on them.

Based on his own too-close encounter with Smaug, this is not going to end well for any of them.

* * *

Tauriel’s been on many of these kinds of missions before. ACU is good at what they do — getting in, stunning or tranquilising the asset, and bringing it back to its enclosure. She knows the drill as well as the rest of the team. Stay low, keep your eyes peeled, and no sudden movements.

They move into the trees behind Halbarad, who keeps on checking the location of the beacon relative to the team. The asset’s coordinates have not moved since they got out, and now that they’re at 300 metres from the beacon, they’re practically on top of it. Yet there’s no sign of a forty-foot-long dinosaur anywhere in sight.

The hairs at the back of Tauriel’s head stick up at the unnatural silence of the jungle, with only the occasional bird or bug cry.

Either the thing is still stunned, or something is very, _very_ wrong.

The team slowly makes its way towards the banks of the upper Cuivénen, the grinding of their boots sounding all too loud to Tauriel’s ears. Halbarad is in front, smelling at the air, eyes sweeping the ground for any sign of the asset.

They should be right in front of it. Yet the river is empty.

Tauriel swallows. This is wrong. Every part of her brain is telling her it’s a trap.

There’s a faint pinging noise coming from the rock at the centre of the river. Halbarad follows it, his steps hesitant. The team moves to follow, but Halbarad halts them with a sign, and kneels down to inspect the thing in the heart of the river.

“The blood hasn’t coagulated yet,” he says, holding up a slab of flesh with the pinging light of a tracker implant embedded in it. “This was recently ripped out.”

Tauriel’s heart hammers wildly in her chest. Her hands are shaking from where she’s holding up her rifle. They’ve walked into a trap set by a dinosaur with little more than a bunch of stun guns.

* * *

In the Control Room, Bilbo’s own heart sinks as the screen projects the picture of the ripped-out implant. He distantly senses Thorin moving into place next to him, and sees out of the corner of his eye the haggard look in the man’s eyes.

“It ripped out its tracking implant,” breathes Thorin, eyes glued to the screen.

Bilbo looks at him briefly. “Means she remembered where they put it,” he says.

On the screen, Halbarad freezes. Slowly, he rises to his feet, looking around him warily. The ACU team, guns at the ready, simultaneously follow his gaze upwards into the trees.

There’s a rustle.

Bilbo inhales sharply.

Another rustle. A shudder. And then, slinking out of the shadows, her skin slowly mottling back to its brilliant red and gold, is the Calamitasaurus.

Halbarad shouts, and all hell breaks loose. The team begins to fire their taser rounds into the creature, but as Bilbo had feared, none of it does any damage. The Calamitasaurus begins to advance, seizing Halbarad in her claws and throwing him down into the water, before stomping fiercely on his back.

Halbarad’s vitals on the screen flatline. Bilbo hears Thorin’s sharp shuddering gasp next to him.

The team below begins to engage the Calamitasaurus, but it’s clear they’re all on the defensive, trying to survive as much as trying to achieve the mission objective. The dinosaur — no, the _beast_ , this is no dinosaur — swipes at the team trying to stun it, throwing and knocking them about like rag dolls with its tail and arms alike, its claws tearing them open with a single slash. Blood splatters onto several of the cameras. Bilbo feels bile rising in his throat.

There’s a terrible scream of agony, and more and more vitals go flat in the control room. Bilbo hears the quiet sobs of Hilda at her station next to him, and sees Bard’s pale knuckles against the counter and the tears he is struggling to hold back. He, too, wipes at the moisture prickling in his eyes, and turns to Thorin with a set jaw.

“Evacuate the island,” he commands.

Thorin’s own expression is drawn. “You are not in control here, Mr Baggins,” he snarls.

“Are you?” demands Bilbo, gesturing to the screens. The only vitals still flashing are that of a man named Théodenson and a woman named Greenwood. “I mean, I don’t know about you, but if I were some experimental genetic hybrid cooped up in an enclosure all my life, and I managed to find an escape, I’d probably be going nuts over my newfound freedom, too. All of this?” He gestures to the screens again, for added effect. “All of this is just her discovering who she is.”

“Bit of a violent existential crisis,” remarks Dwalin, though his expression is grave.

“She’s figuring out where she is in the food chain,” says Bilbo quietly. Behind him on the screen, Théodenson’s vitals go flat. “And I don’t think anyone in this room wants to be there when she does.”

There is silence in the room, punctuated by the sound of the beeping monitors. Only Greenwood’s vitals are still going. Bilbo looks back at the screen. Greenwood’s body cam has dropped to the forest floor, recording only the stunned expression of one of her deceased teammates.

“Asset Containment is allowed to use live ammunition in the event of an emergency, isn’t that right?” he asks after a moment.

Dwalin nods.

“Then what are we waiting for? Get the live rounds out there and kill the blasted thing!”

“I will _not_ have war in this park!” shouts Thorin.

“You’ve already got one, whether you like it or not!” Bilbo retorts. Thorin’s eyes are hard when he looks at him. “That creature — since it’s certainly _not_ a dinosaur — has only one real instinct right now: killing. She’s going to kill _everything_ that stands in her way, and she’s not going to stop until something stops her.”

Thorin grits his teeth. “There are families that need to be sent to safety first,” he growls.

“Then do it. Evacuate the park.”

“We don’t have enough resources to get all 22,000 people off the island in one go,” says Thorin.

“At least start it _now_!” exclaims Bilbo. “Do it now, instead of later, when there’s been more death and destruction and even the smallest children are aware that something is very, _very_ wrong!”

Thorin flinches at that. He swallows, sending a look towards the screens. Bilbo follows his gaze towards the camera feeds showing the visitors to the park, where families are laughing and children are playing, completely oblivious to the disaster happening right under their noses.

His voice is gentle when he speaks again. “Thorin, _please_.”

Thorin nods, and turns to the rest of the room. “Close everything north of the resort,” he says. “This is a Phase One, Real World. Bring everyone in.”

* * *

The normal wait time for the Gyrosphere is about forty-five minutes long on a good day. For Fíli and Kíli, however, their VIP bracelets take them right to the front, even in front of the Raptorpass holders. That gets them a couple dirty glares, but Fíli could hardly care less.

**_Where are you now?_ **

**_in line for the hamster balls_ **

**_The Gyrospheres? Oh Tilda loves those things! They’re lots of fun :D_ **

**_yeah the map says they can take us pretty close to a lot of dinosaurs. kee’s excited_ **

They are loaded into the next available sphere and shuttled off through a short patch of track before they’re released onto a wide field. There’s an autopilot course for the sphere, of course, though the sphere also comes with manual controls within to take them closer to any of the dinosaurs roaming freely in the field.

The first couple of minutes, of course, finds them rolling through the field with nary a dinosaur in sight. Fíli looks back towards the loading area, where there seems to be some sort of commotion going on. He shrugs, and turns back to the front.

 _Hello, I’m Rosie Cotton_! A bright beaming face grins at them from the in-sphere monitor.

“Isn’t that the girl from the Rosie Cotton Show?” asks Kíli. “She looks different when she’s not dressed like a barmaid.”

“Good different, or bad different?” asks Fíli. Kíli shrugs, as Rosie causes a flask to explode, spraying what’s supposed to be Dilophosaurus venom onto her fingers and promptly passing out.

The safety video continues on, but Fíli tunes it out, as Sigrid has just messaged him:

**_Is there something going on at the park? Da texted me saying that we’re lucky we left this week but he wouldn’t actually say anything._ **

**_everything looks fine over here_ **

**_Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll text you if Da tells me anything else. Stay safe <3_ **

“Where are they?” demands Kíli. There’s a loud trumpeting noise, and Fíli hurriedly puts his mobile away as the Gyrosphere crests another hill, opening out onto a valley filled with life.

There are Triceratops, roaming and grazing on the lush green grass. There are Apatosauruses nibbling at the leaves on the trees. There are brightly-coloured Stegosauruses making low growls, and Ankylosauruses swinging their club tails with each step. The Gyrosphere deftly winds its way through them all, sometimes barely skirting by their legs. The Apatosauruses in particular tower over the spheres, and Kíli’s eyes only get wider and wider the farther they venture into the valley.

Suddenly, their monitor, which had brought up profiles of all the dinosaurs that they were seeing, comes to life again with a ping:

_Due to technical difficulties, all exhibits are now closed. Please disembark any rides, and return to the resort. Have a safe and fun rest of your day at the Erebor Prehistoric Wildlife World._

Fíli looks at Kíli, whose expression has rapidly fallen at the sound of that message, and sighs.

“Come on, does this hamster ball look like it’s malfunctioning to you?” he asks.

“I bet it’s something else,” says Kíli, still looking downcast. Fíli rolls his eyes.

“We’ve got VIP wristbands, Kee, come on. Let’s stay out here a little longer.”

Kíli bites his lip. “They said the ride’s closed,” he hedges.

“And since when do you ever listen to posted signs and warnings?” demands Fíli, pulling the lever to put the Gyrosphere on manual. Kíli concedes his argument, whooping as they push their sphere to its fastest speed, zooming alongside the galloping herd of dinosaurs.

Fíli closes his eyes and basks in the sunlight shining through the sphere, and ignores the buzzing of his mobile in his pocket.

* * *

“Oh sweet Mahal, he’s not picking up,” mutters Thorin, pacing around the back of the Control Room, redialling the number again. This could not be happening. _No._

“Something wrong?” Hilda asks him. Thorin shakes his head and waves her off, gritting his teeth as the dial tone starts to ring again.

_Hi, you’ve reached Fíli! I’m obviously not at my phone right now, but leave me a message or give me a ring later, okay?_

After he had issued the evacuation order, Thorin had called Balin, only to find that the boys had given his assistant the slip several hours ago, and Balin was rushing through the emptying park trying to find them. Truly, the man deserves a pay raise for putting up with any of this, and Thorin would certainly have to keep it in mind, provided they survive the night.

Thorin curses, but just before he’s about to dial again, Fíli calls him back.

“Indâd!”

“Where in the name of the Maker have you been?” demands Thorin, before taking a deep breath. “Sorry, sorry. I just — where are you? Balin says you gave him the slip, so now neither of us know where you are.”

A pause.

“Um, could you say that again?” asks Fíli, his voice slightly tinny at the other end. “I can’t hear you clearly; Kíli and I are in the hamster ball.”

“The hamster ball,” echoes Thorin. What was he talking about — _oh_.

The Gyrospheres.

Only four miles from the failed containment attempt.

“Fíli, please, I need you to get you and your brother back to the resort, all right?” Thorin asks, trying to keep his voice level. He’s hearing more static than voice on the other end, which is getting more and more disconcerting. “Fíli? Fíli, can you —”

The line goes dead.

Thorin exhales, long and slow, and looks up to where Bilbo is leaning over Bard’s shoulder, peering at the screen.

“Mr Archer!” Thorin says. “Are there any Gyrospheres left in the valley?”

“They should all be accounted for —” begins Bard, but suddenly one of the little images flashes red. “No, there’s one off-course; it’s out in the field.”

Thorin immediately seizes the phone lying next to Hilda. “Security? I need a search-and-rescue team out in the Gyrosphere Valley, _now_!” he shouts.

“We can’t send out any more teams, we’ve got our hands full already and we’re doing the best we can!” insists the person on the other end.

Thorin growls. “No, you need to send out _one_ more team, this is an emergency, there are two guests missing — you need to make it your _top priority_!”

“I’m sorry, sir, but we’re really overwhelmed right now!”

Thorin’s about to start cursing, but he suddenly feels a hand on his forearm, and turns to see Bilbo looking at him.  

“What do you need?” asks Bilbo simply.

Thorin sets down the phone, his eyes never leaving Bilbo’s. “You,” he says.

* * *

At the perimeter fence leading out of the Gyrosphere Valley, Fíli spies an open gate. “Hey,” he says, nudging Kíli, who has spent the past couple of minutes looking more worried than excited about spending extra time with the dinosaurs.

“Seems like a bad idea, Fee,” says Kíli, staring into the shadows between the trees.

“You sure you don’t want to figure out why the gate’s open?” asks Fíli.

Kíli grumbles, but Fíli recognises the curious glint in the boy’s eyes. He grins, and pushes their Gyrosphere forward.

“Don’t tell Indâd,” he says, putting a finger to his lips as they slowly make their way through the gates and into the clearing.

“Of course I’m not going to,” retorts Kíli. “He’ll tell Amad, and then we’ll be grounded until we die.”

“Oh, _please_ ,” scoffs Fíli as he maneuvers the Gyrosphere through the foliage. “She’s not going to do that.”

There’s a pause, and then Kíli looks up at him. “Do you ever miss Adad?” he asks.

Fíli shrugs. “He was a great guy,” he replies, even though his own heart pounds a little more painfully just remembering their father. “He and Amad loved each other. And us.”

“It’s not fair that I don’t have as many memories with him as you do,” says Kíli quietly. Fíli smiles, reaching out to pat his brother’s hand.

“That’s how it is sometimes, Kee. I don’t know what else to say. It’s why some people turn to beliefs about the afterlife, right? The idea that someone dead to us is just simply waiting for us elsewhere. That they’re not _really_ gone.”

“I think Amad might be remarrying,” Kíli blurts out suddenly. Fíli raises an eyebrow.

“That’s ridiculous. She wouldn’t do that.”

“She’s been dressing up and going out,” says Kíli, wiping at his face. “And she texts — she texts this new guy a lot. I tried to look him up, but I got no results. What if he’s a criminal who hasn’t been caught yet, Fee? I don’t want a criminal for a stepfather!”

“Calm down,” suggests Fíli, though it’s to little avail. “Kee, come on. Amad would tell us if she’s getting remarried, all right? No need to worry about it.”

“Maybe that’s why she sent us to stay with Indâd,” argues Kíli.

“You’ve got such an imagination,” scoffs Fíli, and finally winds the Gyrosphere to a halt in a clearing. “Come on, look. There you go, the real Erebor experience. Up close and personal with four… dinosaurses.”

Kíli looks over at the four dinosaurs in question, all gathered defensively in the clearing together. “They’re Ankylosauruses.”

Something stirs in the shadows. Kíli gulps.

“Also, there’s five dinosaurs, not four,” he adds.

“Really? I only see four. Maybe you should get your eyes checked.”

Kíli shakes his head vehemently. “No, there’s definitely five!” he insists.

“One, two, three, four,” snaps Fíli, pointing to the Ankylosauruses in the clearing.

“You missed the one behind us,” replies Kíli. There’s a low growl, and slowly the two of them turn just in time to see the new dinosaur let out an earth-splitting roar right in their faces.

“Come on, go, go, _go_!” shouts Kíli, as Fíli drives them away as fast as he dares. They’re flanked by the rampaging Ankylosauruses on both sides, and behind them the new dinosaur is gaining ground. The trees, too, seem to be less inclined to let them escape; they crash into a couple on the way, and are rammed by one of the Ankylosauruses’ club tails into another. Kíli covers his face with his arms, screaming in terror as Fíli crashes into a bush.

The new dinosaur storms past them, having singled out one of the Ankylosauruses for a meal. The boys try to drive the Gyrosphere through the battle, but are only sent tumbling upside-down into the roots of a tree. Fíli growls, fiddling with the manual control to get them upright again, but the lever seems to be stuck. And though everything is upside-down, the two of them now practically have ringside seats to the Ankylosaurus versus new dinosaur battle.

“What the hell is that?” asks Fíli, pointing to the new dinosaur.

“A T-Rex?” asks Kíli, and then frowns. “But no, its jaw is a bit bigger and it has horns all over its head. Maybe it’s a Carnotaur? Or a cross between the two?”

“Can that happen?” asks Fíli. Kíli shrugs.

Up ahead, the battle continues, though of course the two sides seem very unevenly matched. The new dinosaur’s claws are too sharp, and it seems to have quite a lot of intelligence, as it quickly figures out that the Ankylosaur is vulnerable below. And so, without much further ado, it flips the poor thing back on its shell, pins it down, and goes for the neck.

Kíli hides his face in his hands, peeking out from behind his fingers. “Are we safe in here?” he asks, and Fíli has never been so tempted before to tell the truth.

“Perfectly safe, Kee,” he says. “Rosie Cotton says so.”

Kíli smiles, but at that moment, Fíli’s mobile begins to ring, and the vibrations cause it to slide out of his pocket and land on the glass, the noise obscenely loud in the silence right before.

The Caller ID shows that it’s Uncle Thorin, and Fíli curses under his breath as he reaches out, fingertips barely missing the screen. He strains forward, scrabbling for the phone, which continues to vibrate with a call from Uncle Thorin.

It’s then he realises that Kíli has gone unnaturally silent. Slowly, Fíli looks up with rising dread, his eyes meeting an amber, reptilian one.

With a loud _CRACK_ the new dinosaur’s claw digs into the glass, causing the two boys to flinch. Slowly, the new dinosaur starts to turn their Gyrosphere around, bringing the boys to face it.

Fíli looks over at Kíli, who is staring upwards with sheer abject terror, and reaches out to grasp his hand.

The last thing they see is the gaping maw of the Calamitasaurus as it closes down around the Gyrosphere.


	3. Chapter 3

Tauriel Greenwood’s head is hurting.

In fact, every part of her is hurting, but that’s beyond the point.

Slowly, she clambers into a sitting position, looking around her at the clearing, where so many of her teammates' bodies are sprawled, unmoving. Tauriel herself is bruised and cut in numerous places, but the most important thing at the moment is that she’s _alive_.

She shrugs off the vest containing the body cam. It was getting too bulky, and she’s pained and tired but she knows there’s a wild dinosaur on the loose, and she needs to be as light as she possibly can.

There’s still some charge left in the rifle loosely held in Théodenson’s hand. Some charge is preferable to no charge, as her own rifle has no charge. So Tauriel takes her fallen comrade’s, adjusts the sight to her own eyes, and staggers off.

Her legs protest in pain as she limps through the jungle, listening cautiously to the sounds around her. The air is not so still and lifeless as before, which is an encouraging thought.

She wonders where Control is, if they’ve left her for dead despite her vitals still going. She wonders when they’ll come to collect the bodies of the rest of the team, and if they’ll see that she’s gone missing. And, of course, she wonders what her father would say about this entire fiasco.

 _Life will always find a way_ , Professor Greenwood used to say. _There’s no way Thrór Durin would have ever been able to control all of those animals in his park. And Thorin Durin is making the same mistake._

A couple of paces from the side of the road lie two damaged ACU vans. One of them doesn’t start, but the other one gives a disgruntled wheeze as Tauriel starts the ignition. This thing’s not going to get her anywhere if the Calamitasaurus is after her, but while the coast is clear, she might as well get away.

And off she drives, her pulse pounding loudly in her ears as the van wheezes and clunks around her.

* * *

There’s an almighty crunch, but those rows of sharp teeth don’t get any closer. Fíli cracks open an eye to see that the new dinosaur’s mouth can’t seem to bite past the glass. It’s stuck.

Kíli’s hands are clammy with sweat next to him. Fíli holds on anyway, especially as the new dinosaur seems to have quickly realised that if it couldn’t bite them, it could at least break their Gyrosphere by picking the sphere up in its jaws and slamming it against the ground. He can feel shards of glass cutting at his neck as the back of the Gyrosphere shatters behind them, and Kíli is too busy screaming to help him come up with an escape plan.

They are slammed against the ground again, and Fíli quickly unbuckles both himself and Kíli from their seats. With the next lift, the two boys fall out of the sphere, and Fíli immediately shields his brother’s body with his own as the sphere comes crashing down around them.

“Go, _go_!” he shouts as soon as the Gyrosphere lifts again, and Kíli scrambles to his feet and runs, with Fíli following quickly after. Behind, he can hear the Gyrosphere being thrown aside with a sickening crunch, and the roar of the new dinosaur as it gives pursuit.

And the two of them run like they’ve never run before. Fíli’s lungs protest madly at the endeavour, and Kíli is whimpering in fear and pain, but the crashes of the dinosaur’s footfalls behind them remind them of the consequences of stopping to catch their breath. They rush onwards, hearing the crash of the dinosaur breaking through the foliage behind them, feeling the blood pounding through their bodies. Fíli vaguely regrets cutting gym class so frequently back at home.

Kíli suddenly skids to a stop, and Fíli follows shortly, the two of them looking down a sharp cliff right next to a waterfall. Below the waters churn and froth, and behind comes the rapidly advancing dinosaur, bellowing a triumphant roar as it forces them further to the edge of the cliff. Fíli feels an uneasy curling in his gut as he looks between the churning waters of the falls below and the rampaging dinosaur gaining on them.

“We have to jump,” says Kíli.

Fíli grits his teeth. “Does it have to be this high?”

“Between drowning and being eaten, there’s not much choice left,” retorts Kíli.

“I hate this,” mutters Fíli, but he closes his eyes and takes his brother’s hand, and the two of them leap over the cliff to the snap of the dinosaur’s jaw just behind them, barely missing Fíli’s hair by an inch.

The cold water of the falls shocks Fíli, and his first instinct is to surface for air, but Kíli grips him by the hand and shakes his head, bubbles spurting out of his nose. Kee had always been better at stuff like this, often taking plunges in the river that ran behind their home, and while Fíli had been less inclined to aquatic pastimes, he could at least hold his breath underwater a little longer.

They hear, distantly, the roar of the dinosaur and its thudding retreat, and surface for air as soon as the heavy footfalls have faded. Fíli gulps in lungfuls of air, and slowly, the two of them paddle to the shore, collapsing in the mud of the opposite banks with breathless laughter.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” asks Kíli.

“Shut up,” retorts Fíli, but there’s definitely a smile on his face as he enfolds his brother in a waterlogged hug. They’ve survived. Now they have to get back to the park.

* * *

At the edge of the Gyrosphere Valley, Thorin parks the park van that he’s taken in lieu of his empty-tanked sedan. Bilbo gets out as soon as they stop, rifle in hand as he begins to move towards the dark shape lying in the grass before them.

Thorin pauses, watching him, but suddenly Bilbo swings the rifle onto his back and kneels down by the dark shape. Thorin hesitantly exits the van as well, stepping towards Bilbo’s kneeling form.

The scent of blood fills the air. As Thorin approaches the dark shape, he quickly realises why: the ground is stained with Apatosaurus blood, and the creature itself is collapsed on its side with serious gouges to its belly, heaving with ragged breaths. It gives a low, piteous moan of pain, even as Bilbo kneels at its head, his voice soft and gentle as he tries to soothe the creature.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Thorin kneels down by the Apatosaurus’ head as well. He can feel Bilbo’s eyes boring holes into his skull as he reaches out, touching the soft downy feathers on its head. It gives a groan, trying to raise its head towards him, but Bilbo makes a couple soothing clicks, gently lowering the Apatosaurus’s head back onto the ground.

Tears prickle at Thorin’s eyes as he reaches out again, resting his hand in soft feathers. Memories resurface of a night spent in a tree with Dís and their father, his throat and eyes still raw with tears from witnessing Frerin’s death, and the low rumbles of the Brachiosaurus that Dís and Thráin had brought closer and fed to cheer him up. He remembers petting it, marvelling at its feathers and the pounding of its pulse against his fingers. He even remembers the indignity of being covered in Brachiosaurus snot when it sneezed on him, Dís’s laughter pealing out so bright and clear, and his father’s own wry chuckle at Thorin’s disgust.

It takes him a moment to realise that the pulse of the creature he is stroking is growing feebler, and he looks up at Bilbo in alarm. Bilbo shakes his head. There’s nothing they can do now.

With a last heaving breath, the Apatosaurus closes its eyes, and Thorin feels its pulse still. Slowly he sinks back, not even bothering to wipe the tears rolling down his cheeks. He feels Bilbo’s hand on his, a silent gesture of support, and he smiles a little, shakily rising to his feet. Bilbo follows suit, and together they walk over the hill to look down at the valley.

The scent of blood grows stronger. Thorin’s eyes widen and his breath comes up sharp when he sees the bodies of five more Apatosauruses sprawled out in the valley below, the carrion birds already starting to settle.

“Smaug didn’t eat them,” Bilbo murmurs, the disbelief evident in his voice.

Thorin’s hands clench. “Then why did she kill them?” he demands, anger boiling in his gut and rising upwards like bile. “Was it for sport?”

Bilbo says nothing, but his silence is all the confirmation Thorin needs.

* * *

“Is it here?” Kíli asks, as Fíli peers around the trunk of the tree.

“Definitely not,” replies Fíli, taking his brother’s hand. “Come on.”

The two of them creep quietly along the forest floor, their breaths quiet and movements careful. All around them the birds are chirping, but Fíli’s ears strain to hear instead the tell-tale growl and rustle of the new dinosaur.

Kíli suddenly tugs at his hand, and Fíli stops short, especially when they see a hulking shadow in the clearing ahead. But as they press forward, they quickly realise that the shadow is not that of some bloodthirsty monster, but of a van.

A very beat up and dilapidated van. Its hood is open, and several parts within are gone.

“What’s that doing here?” wonders Kíli. Fíli shrugs, running a hand over the side of the vehicle before noticing something in the undergrowth nearby. It looks like some sort of building, overgrown and reclaimed by nature after years of abandonment.

Slowly, he moves beyond the van, venturing closer as quietly as he could. Kíli follows close behind, his breathing quiet but ragged as they approach the steps leading up to the building. The stones are slick and worn, with moss peppered between the cracks.

It’s remarkable how quickly nature reclaims things.

The two of them approach the door leading into the building. It is open, but barely, as if someone had entered and tried to close the door behind them in a hurry. He pushes at the door now, and it creaks with disuse, swinging inwards heavily before them.

Fíli’s breath is taken away as they step inside, at the sight of the plant life growing in the room and the afternoon sunlight filtering in through the domed ceiling. Kíli gasps beside him, brushing past Fíli as he steps forward into the room and looks upwards.

“This must be part of the old park,” Kíli says after a moment. As he steps towards the centre of the room, Fíli feels something shift beneath his feet. He kicks aside some dead leaves to reveal a banner, old and faded with age.

_Erebor Prehistoric Wildlife Park: When Dinosaurs Ruled the World_

Something rises within Fíli, something that he can’t quite pinpoint. This is it, then. This is the place where it all began. He absently wipes at his eyes, bending down to pick up the banner, and a long piece of resin shaped like a bone.

“We need a light,” he says.

“I might have something,” replies Kíli, digging into his pockets, but his hands still when a footstep resounds behind them. Fíli’s blood runs cold as he turns, dropping the banner and holding the bone out like a club. He steps in front of his brother, breath hitching as a figure with a rifle steps out from the shadows of a nearby door.

“Who are you?” he calls.

* * *

Thorin’s heart sinks the moment he parks the van by the smouldering, shattered ruins of the Gyrosphere. The Rosie Cotton video is still playing, a mocking sound to Thorin’s ear.

Slowly, he staggers forward, kneeling down by the side of the Gyrosphere. There, in the dirt, is Fíli’s mobile, the screen cracked and lifeless.

“No,” breathes Thorin as he picks up the mobile. “ _No_!” Tears rise to his eyes again, unbidden and warm, and he squeezes his eyes tight, letting them fall. What is he going to tell Dís? He should have never abandoned them. He should have been there to protect them! Mahal, Kíli had just been _twelve_!

He can hear Bilbo approaching behind him, his footsteps cautious. Moments later, Thorin feels Bilbo’s hand on his shoulder, and he wipes away his tear and shrugs off Bilbo’s hand, summoning everything he has left to appear professional once more.

“They’re not dead,” says Bilbo.

“How would you know?” demands Thorin.

Bilbo points to several muddy footprints leading away from the sphere. Thorin exhales in relief, long and slow, and nods, slowly clambering to his feet once more.

Together, they follow the footprints — and the tracks of the Calamitasaurus — out to the edge of the cliff, where the waterfall roars and the pool beneath churns. Thorin wants to scream, wants to shout for his nephews, but he knows that the last thing they need is for the Calamitasaurus to hear him. Still, he looks everywhere, almost manic in his need to know what had happened to Fíli and Kíli.

“They jumped the waterfall,” says Bilbo, gesturing to the dinosaur tracks at the edge of the cliff.

“What do you suggest we do, then?” asks Thorin, peering down over the ledge. Mahal, his nephews were braver than he had thought. This entire day has been one long exercise in proving Thorin Durin wrong, so why stop now?

“We find them?” Bilbo shrugs. “I’m not some sort of Ranger, but I’ll do my best. You get back to the park, and I’ll find your nephews.”

“No,” says Thorin, gritting his teeth. There’s no way he’s leaving Bilbo out here in a Calamitasaurus-infested jungle alone with just a rifle on his back and a knife at his belt. “I’m coming with you.”

“In that?” asks Bilbo incredulously, gesturing to Thorin’s starched shirt and carefully-pressed trousers. Thorin looks down. His clothes are already mud-stained, and it would take him ages to clean his shoes, too. Might as well cave to the inevitable.

“Never really liked this suit, anyway,” he replies with a shrug as he untucks his shirt and undoes several buttons, rolling up his sleeves as well. “I’ll be glad to get rid of it.”

Bilbo snorts. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Thorin puts his hands on his hips and cocks an eyebrow at the shorter man. “Means I’m ready,” he replies. “Lead on.”

“If you say so,” replies Bilbo, his cheeks flushing a light shade of pink as he does so. “But before we go, I want your word that you’ll do anything I ask of you. We don’t know what’s waiting out there, and if I want you to run and save yourself from an oncoming Smaug, you’ll do as I say.”

“Yes, I will, but what if I want to help you fend her off?” demands Thorin.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Thorin,” retorts Bilbo. “You’re worth more to this park than me.”

Thorin gapes at him. “That’s not true!” he exclaims, but Bilbo’s already turning away, striding into the undergrowth. With a frustrated growl, Thorin races in after him.

 _It’ll be a walk in the park_ , he thinks. _A walk in the park sixty-five million years ago._

* * *

_Due to technical difficulties, all exhibits are now closed. Please disembark any rides, and return to the resort. Have a safe and fun rest of your day at the Erebor Prehistoric Wildlife World._

The laboratories are still bustling with scientists, though many of them are closing down fragile equipment and storing breakables away. Dwalin’s gaze drops over the incubators, each one labelled with the name of another dinosaur.

Through the glass he sees the guests being rushed out by park workers, evacuating to the resort for now. The ferry is now running at double speed, shuttling people off to the mainland as quickly as he can. Unfortunately, there’s only so many boats, and not enough space for all of the guests.

Dwalin jolts from his musings when he sees the man he wanted to talk to. Dr Curunír is talking to two other scientists; one is wearing a grey button-down, the other a brown t-shirt. He steps closer, clearing his throat, and Dr Curunír looks up with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Captain Fundinsson! What can we do for you?”

“I’d like a word,” says Dwalin tersely. He looks at the other two scientists: Dr Grey and Dr Aiwendil, if he’s not mistaken. “Alone.”

“Very well,” says Dr Curunír, a little too smoothly. “Step into my office, if you please.”

Dr Curunír’s office is in a glass enclosure, with a good view of everything else in the lab. Everything within, excluding the animals in their tanks, is sleek, minimalist, and blinding white. Dwalin looks uneasily around him at the animals, nodding briefly as Dr Curunír pours him a glass of water.

“What brings you here to the labs, Captain?” asks Dr Curunír. Dwalin grits his teeth.

“How much did you know?” he demands.

“I know a lot of things, Captain, it does come with the job description of being a _scientist_ ,” replies Dr Curunír.

Dwalin growls. “You know what I’m talking about, Curunír. The Calamitasaurus. Were you aware that it would attempt to escape? That it could do all that it could do?”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say,” replies Dr Curunír as he takes a seat at the desk. “The full genetic profile of the Calamitasaurus is classified. And modified animals are known to be unpredictable.”

Dwalin approaches the desk, anger boiling deep inside him.

“You are damn well at liberty to tell me how that thing was able to evade a thermal scan and change its skin colour!” he snaps. “It’s killed people!”

Dr Curunír stares back impassively. “The Haradrim tree frog is able to detect heat signatures and modulate its infrared output to adapt to changes in temperature,” he says. “We gave her some of its DNA so that she could adjust to the tropical climate of the island.” He pauses, and continues: “Gondorian cuttlefish genes were used to help her adjust to a rapid growth rate. However, cuttlefish also have chromatophores, which enable it to change colour.”

“Who authorised you to do that?” demands Dwalin.

Dr Curunír raises an eyebrow. “Mr Durin did,” he replies. “I do believe his exact instructions were to ‘make it bigger, scarier, and _cooler_ ’.”

“And your response was _that_?” exclaims Dwalin, jabbing a finger towards the screen in the lab that is still showing a hologram of the Calamitasaurus Dominus.

“I was only doing my job,” replies Dr Curunír. “You cannot have a creature with exaggerated predatorial features without the corresponding behavioural traits.”

Dwalin rubs his temples. “You’ve killed us all, Dr Curunír,” he says, with a wry laugh. “It’s the end of Thrór Durin’s dream. This park is as good as closed, all because you’ve decided to play Eru and cook up something unnatural.”

Dr Curunír laughs. “Unnatural? Nothing in this park _is_ natural, Captain! We’ve always been filling gaps in the genetic code with DNA from other animals. I thought you remembered that from the first time ‘round.”

“We didn’t ask you to make a _monster_ ,” hisses Dwalin.

“‘Monster’ is a relative term,” replies Dr Curunir. “To a bird, a cat is a monster.” He pauses. “We have simply grown complacent in the role of the cat.”

* * *

The instant they speak up, Tauriel realises that the intruders are actually two boys. Neither of them look like much of a threat, even if the taller blond one is carrying a bone in his hands like a club.

Tauriel slowly steps out into the light, swinging the rifle onto her back and putting up her hands in an appeasing gesture. The blond lowers his makeshift club slightly, fixing her with a steely, protective glare.

“Tauriel Greenwood, Asset Containment Unit,” Tauriel says, her eyes never leaving his. “The same could be asked of you two.”

At that moment, the shorter boy, the brunet, peers out from behind his brother’s back with a small gasp. He then steps out as well, his eyes wide.

“I’m Kíli Durin,” he says, “and that’s my older brother Fíli. We thought you were something else.”

“As did I,” says Tauriel.

“How did you get here?” asks Fíli, his eyes still narrowed suspiciously.

“The van,” says Tauriel, jerking her head towards the entrance. “It’s useless now, so I used it to fix up one of the Jeeps in the garage so I can get back to the park. I was just about done when the two of you arrived. You?”

The boys look at each other. “Were you escaping a dinosaur?” Kíli asks.

Tauriel frowns. “Yes,” she hedges.

“Was it big, like a T-Rex, with Carnotaur spikes on its head and stuff?”

“Yes,” she says.

“Do you know what it is?” asks Kíli, to an exasperated eyeroll from his brother.

“It’s the park’s newest asset,” Tauriel replies smoothly. “The Calamitasaurus Dominus. It’s a genetically-modified hybrid.”

“So it _was_ a T-Rex crossed with a Carnotaur!” exclaims Kíli. “I told you so, Fee!”

“It has other dinosaurs in its makeup, I think,” says Tauriel.

“Which ones?” asks Kíli.

Tauriel shrugs. “It’s been awhile since I was briefed on her.”

“It’s a _she_?” demands Fíli.

“Of course it’s a she, Fee, they’re more aggressive,” says Kíli. “Besides, didn’t Indâd tell us once that all the dinosaurs in this park are female?”

Tauriel steps closer to the boys, her hands still up with palms facing outwards. As she gets closer, she notices that they’re dirty and wet, with clothes covered in mud and blood. Even as she watches, Kíli reaches back, gingerly touching the back of his neck and coming back with a wince and bloody hands.

“What _happened_ to you two?” Tauriel asks.

“Gyrosphere broke,” says Fíli.

“Was it the Calamitasaurus?”

Fíli nods. “Do you have something for the cuts?”

Tauriel nods, taking her electric torch out from a loop on her belt. “I used the ACU medikit on my own injuries, but there’s still some bandages and antiseptic.” A pause. “And tweezers.”

Kíli winces, but the two of them follow her anyway back to the old gift shop, where she had been hiding. And as Tauriel clears some space between the old mouldy t-shirts and the overgrown flora, she notices that Kíli has been staring wide-eyed at her the entire time.

* * *

There are trucks arriving on the beach.

From behind a rock, Bofur watches the vehicles arrive on the sand. People dressed from head to toe in climate-inappropriate black are unloading crates from the trucks.

“What in Mahal’s name,” mutters Bofur, as he trains his binoculars on the side of the nearest truck. To his dismay, the insignia on the side is a double helix in an oval, followed by the words ‘Arkenstone Bioengineering Corporation’.

“Ah, _kalfêl_ ,” Bofur hisses, before grabbing his mobile and dialling a number. “Bilbo? Bilbo? Bilbo, Angmar’s sent in the — son of a Warg, can you change your bloody voicemail message? I fall for it every damn time!”

With more muttered curses, Bofur slams his mobile onto the sand and resumes observing the arriving army.

* * *

“There,” says Tauriel, as she presses a plaster over the back of Kíli’s neck. “All better. For now, at least.”

Kíli winces, gingerly patting his neck. Fíli notices him determinedly refusing to look at the pile of bloody glass shards lying on one of the old shirts.

He hands Tauriel’s torch, which he and Kíli had alternated in holding while she extracted the glass from their injuries, back to her. She smiles in thanks, setting it down as she starts to repack the medikit.

“So,” says Fíli as soon as she closes the box and rises to her feet. “What was that about a Jeep you’ve fixed?” he asks.

“My brother and I used to tinker with our father’s cars,” says Tauriel, dusting off her hands. “I took spare parts from the old ACU van and patched up one of the old Jeeps in the garage, further down this way.” She jabs a thumb behind her.

“Your father?” echoes Fíli.

“Professor Thranduil Greenwood,” replies Tauriel.

“Oh, we’ve heard of him!” exclaims Kíli, as they start heading towards the garage. “Indâd hates him.”

“He has been very vocally opposed to the resurrection of this park,” agrees Tauriel neutrally.

“Must’ve been a shock to find you working for us, then,” replies Fíli.

Tauriel chuckles. Fíli watches the beam of her torch passing over old shelves and displays. They’re heading down a darkened hallway, past a set of steel doors hanging off their hinges. The remnants of a kitchen shine beyond them.

“I first met the professor here in this very building,” continues Tauriel, the beam of her torch revealing the faded text of the old DNA sequencing exhibit. “I was born and raised on this island, with both of my parents working in the park. I was too young to remember the details of the tragedy, but I do remember clearly the professor fetching me from the staff bungalows afterwards and taking me with him.”

“Was your brother also adopted, then?” asks Kíli, tactful as always.

Tauriel snorts. “No, he was the professor’s,” she says. But the next time the torch’s beam catches her face, Fíli sees that her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

There’s more in her expression, Fíli knows. Her eyes are distant, as if she’s remembering something else. Something more. So many people he’s met today have had ties to that tragedy, ties that are being slowly but inexorably brought back to the surface with the release of the Calamitasaurus. The actions of his family have touched so much more than just Amad and Indâd, and he’s not sure how to feel about it.

Finally, Tauriel leads them through a doorway, turning off her torch as the afternoon light filters in through the open garage doors to reveal two Jeeps, one of which has the hood still popped open. Fíli whistles as he sees it, brushing some more leaves out of the back seat.

“Does it work?” he asks.

Tauriel shrugs. “I haven’t tried it just yet,” she replies.

“Well, now’s a good time as any.” Fíli opens the door to the back seat for his brother, clambering in after him. Kíli’s gaze still hasn’t left Tauriel, as if he was scared she would vanish if he blinks. Fíli resists the urge to groan. Of all the times for his little brother to become fascinated with another person, it _had_ to be while they were running for their lives from some deranged dinosaur on the loose.

Well, _driving_ for their lives. And hopefully they wouldn’t actually encounter the Calamitasaurus on their way out.

Tauriel clambers into the driver’s seat, slinging her rifle onto the passenger seat. There’s a click as she buckles up, and then she turns back to look at them.

“Hold onto your butts, boys,” she suggests as she starts the ignition. The Jeep roars to life with a jolt, and Fíli winces at how loud it sounds in the small garage. “Let’s hope we get back in one piece.”

* * *

In the jungle, Thorin freezes when he hears the sound of an engine. Next to him, Bilbo also perks up, lowering his rifle as he tries to determine where the sound is coming from.

“That’s one of the Jeeps from the old park, if I’m not mistaken,” hisses Thorin. “There’s only one place where those are located now — follow me!”

Together they head in the direction of the engine noise, eventually coming across the abandoned old park’s visitor centre, coming across the garage with one of the vehicles missing.

“My nephews never cease to amaze me,” breathes Thorin, leaning against the hood of the other Jeep as he stares down at the Jeep-shaped space on the floor and the familiar muddy footprints around it. “The path through the trees here takes them directly back to the new park.”

“Clever kids,” says Bilbo, chuckling. His laughter is cut short, however, by the too-familiar thud of a heavy stomp against the ground.

Thorin takes a deep, shuddering breath. Slowly, he sinks to the floor of the garage, trying to calm his racing heart. Here, of all places, in the garage of his grandfather’s park. Of course Smaug had to find them here.

When he closes his eyes, he remembers the kitchen of this same visitor’s centre, and the skittering of raptor claws against the floor.

Another heavy thud. Thorin doesn’t know which is worse, his memory or reality. He’s a little boy again in both, his hands clamped to his ears and his breath coming in silent, ragged sobs.

Smaug’s low growl resounds from the empty space in the garage. Thorin’s mouth opens in a silent cry, remembering with vivid clarity the terrifying moment when the handle of the door separating him and Dís from the Velociraptors began to turn —

The Jeep begins to shift as Smaug tries to move it to get to them, but she seems unable to in this little space. Thorin is dimly aware of Bilbo’s warmth pressed against him, of his now-reassuring smell (if that lovely mixture of sweat and petrol could ever be called reassuring) enveloping him. He closes his eyes and leans into the warmth, trying to ground himself again in Bilbo’s presence.

The growling subsides. Smaug has moved away. Thorin exhales, looking towards Bilbo, whose concerned expression is far too close. For a brief, breathless moment, Thorin wonders how soft Bilbo’s lips might feel against his.

And then the ceiling of the garage caves in as the Calamitasaurus roars at them. Bilbo springs away, grabbing his rifle from the ground and shoving Thorin towards the doorway, and Thorin has no choice but to obey, running through the ruins of his grandfather’s visitor centre once more with Smaug hot on their tail. They dash out the front doors and flee into the woods, just in time to hear a helicopter flying ahead.

There’s another roar, and suddenly the thundering footsteps of the Calamitasaurus begin to fade. It’s moving in the other direction, towards the Aviary.

Thorin grabs his mobile and calls Control. Hilda picks up on the second ring. “Ms Bianca, we’ve found Smaug. She’s south of the Gyrosphere Valley, between the old park and the Aviary.”

“You’re following the dinosaur?” exclaims Hilda incredulously.

“Yes,” says Thorin shortly. “Please get ACU out here, real guns this time.”

“ACU’s already out. They took the Rabbit.”

Thorin blinks, and then looks up towards the sky, where the distant sound of a helicopter can be heard.

“...The _Rhosgobel_ Rabbit?” he demands.

* * *

“How did you convince Captain Fundinsson to let you fly this thing?”

Dr Aiwendil laughs from where he’s steering (for lack of a better term) the helicopter. “The Rabbit’s mine, Gwaihir. I just don’t have many opportunities to take her for a spin.”

From behind Gwaihir and seated next to the minigun mounted on the helicopter, Landroval slumps in his seat, looking extremely green in the face.

“Do you have a license to operate this, Dr Aiwendil?” demands Gwaihir.

“What’s that?” demands the scientist, and Landroval retches very piteously at that.

Hilda’s voice comes over the radio at that moment: _We have eyes on the target south of the Aviary. Proceed and engage_. Dr Aiwendil cackles at that.

“Come on, folks, look alive!” he exclaims, even as the Rabbit lists a little too heavily to the left. The scientist adjusts the control again, taking them a little lower as they crest the cliff overlooking the Aviary. They are in the trees around it moments later, and Landroval suddenly sits up straighter.

“Ten o’clock, heading for the birdcage!” he shouts, and Dr Aiwendil turns the helicopter around, helping the ACU officer get a good shot. Unfortunately, good is only relative, especially as the only damage that the bullets seem to be doing is further angering the Calamitasaurus, driving it straight through the glass walls of Erebor’s Aviary.

Dr Aiwendil whistles. “We might have just set the fox into the henhouse, folks,” he says, as the hulking shapes of several Pteranodons and Dimorphodons emerge from the breach in the aviary, heading straight for them.

Within moments, the Pteranodons and Dimorphodons have descended upon the Rabbit. Landroval does manage to take out a couple before he is snatched away, but Gwaihir is less lucky. One of the Pteranodons crashes straight through the glass as Dr Aiwendil tries to turn the craft around, its beak piercing Gwaihir’s chest and killing her instantly.

Exhilaration turning sharply into panic, Dr Aiwendil tries to land the craft, but the Pterosaurs flocking the Rabbit are too much. In a blink, he finds himself spiraling out of control, with only the glass of the Aviary dome coming up to meet him.

As he braces for impact, Dr Aiwendil thinks it might not be too bad to go down with his Rabbit after all.

* * *

When Bilbo and Thorin finally clear the trees, they find the Aviary nestled in the valley below, sparkling glass in the afternoon sun.

Except there is a hole in the glass, and smoke is pouring out of it. Bilbo hears Thorin exhale, and turns to see the man calling someone on his mobile again.

“Ms Bianca! What happened?”

Thorin’s expression gets more and more ashen as he listens to Hilda on the other end, and Bilbo watches him end the call and put his mobile away with a heavy sigh. He raises an eyebrow at Thorin, hoping beyond hope that the smoke meant something else from what he’s dreading.

Thorin shakes his head. “The Rabbit has crashed,” he says. “They don’t know if there are any survivors. Smaug still lives.”

Bilbo exhales, and nods, pursing his lips and looking back towards the hole in the aviary. “Well, then,” he says. “There must be something else we can do.”

Thorin nods. “We’ll think of something,” he agrees.

Bilbo smiles, but suddenly he notices something around the hole’s opening. He peers towards it, shielding his eyes from the sun’s glare, and his heart sinks as he sees what it is.

“The Pterosaurs are coming!” he shouts, grabbing Thorin by the arm and pulling him back towards the trees. “Come on, take cover — the Pterosaurs are coming!”

And they run onwards, into the trees once more, taking yet another route back to the park. Bilbo’s not sure if he’s ever had to do so much running before in his life. Sure, he did do some exercises with his Raptors, but usually those were done with him on his motorbike, Myrtle. The girls kept him relatively in shape, but still, this was surely far too much running.

Overhead, the Pterosaurs make a beeline straight for the park. Bilbo watches them as they pass, their cries like crows as they get closer and closer to the park and the thousands of guests still trapped there.

They’re racing onto the road where the other park workers are loading into vans and trucks to escape the oncoming Pterosaurs. Panic has permeated the park, caught between the newly-freed Pterosaurs and the rampaging Calamitasaurus. It’s not the first time Bilbo thinks that the only thing the scientists didn’t mess up was in naming Smaug, and he suspects it won’t be the last time, either.

Thorin is on his mobile again, running confusedly between the fleeing workers. Bilbo spots a quad bike and quickly seizes it, turning around to shout for Thorin to join him.

“Balin says my nephews have been spotted at the West Gate with Greenwood, the only survivor of the first ACU containment effort,” Thorin gasps as he mounts the bike behind Bilbo, who quickly starts the engine and turns it down the road towards the park. “He’s going to fetch them.”

“We’ll meet up with them there,” Bilbo replies. “Hold on!”

And he can’t help the fluttering feeling in his stomach as Thorin presses against him, arms wrapping around his waist as they head down the road towards the park.

* * *

Tauriel, Fíli, and Kíli have barely just made it through the West Gate when the air raid sirens go off.

Pandemonium breaks out as the Pterosaurs descend on the guests left in the park. In the push of the crowd, Fíli clings onto his brother’s hand.

“Tauriel!” screams Kíli suddenly, and Fíli turns to find the red-haired woman missing, sundered from them by the pressing crowd.

“Come on, Kee!” he shouts, as they swerve to avoid a Dimorphodon’s vicious dive. “We’ll find her later!”

They run on through the crowd, hardly daring to stop for breath, ducking and swerving to avoid the Pterosaurs. All around them, other guests are being knocked over, or picked up and dropped. The majority of the picked-up guests land onto hard concrete, but some of the more unfortunate ones are plunged into the lagoon to be eaten by the Mosasaurus. Screams of panic fill the air from the guests and park workers alike, accompanied by the sound of breaking windows.

Fíli sees children crying for lost parents, parents screaming for their children, and is suddenly reminded of Tauriel’s parents. How many more families must suffer now for his great-grandfather’s dream?

“Fíli! Kíli!”

Fíli is jolted from his thoughts when he sees Balin running towards them, his expression haggard. Kíli turns to run towards the assistant as well, but suddenly a Pteranodon swoops down, clearly intending on snatching Balin with its claws.

“No!” screams Kíli, and tackles Balin onto the ground before the Pteranodon can grab him. It swoops up, shrieking in anger, before turning around and diving straight for them again, but this time Fíli leaps and pushes them back out of the reach of the Pteranodon’s beak.

It loops back for a third time, but this time, the Pteranodon is struck down in mid-air by a bullet, falling uselessly to the ground to reveal Tauriel, cocking a new rifle with a smug grin.

“Go!” she shouts, and Fíli nods, shoving both the wide-eyed Kíli and Balin down the avenue as they flee from the attacking dinosaurs.

* * *

With the arrival of the Pterosaurs, the park has descended into chaos. Bilbo parks the quad and grabs another rifle from a passing guard, tossing it at Thorin before gesturing for him to follow.

The rifle is weirdly heavy in Thorin’s hands. It’s not as if he has never shot one before; he’s definitely been to some shooting ranges with more trigger-happy family members. But right now, as he and Bilbo follow the guards into the pandemonium that is his park right now, Thorin can’t help but feel himself being weighed down by guilt and responsibility.

His grandfather’s park had only managed to kill some workers and some of his family members. _His_ park is killing guests.

Bilbo and the guards get into some sort of formation on Main Street, shooting down the Pterosaurs as they fly overhead. Thorin himself finds a nearby planter and climbs on top, surveying the avenue for a sign of his nephews.

“Fíli!” he screams. “Kíli!”

And suddenly there they are, with an out of breath Balin barely just catching up with them, sprinting down the avenue. “Indâd!” shouts Kíli, and Thorin swears he has never been so happy to see these two boys in his life.

Bilbo and the guards have been shooting down all of the Pterosaurs that might make an easy target of him as he calls for his nephews, but at the sight of Fíli and Kíli, Bilbo lowers his rifle briefly. In his hesitation, he is tackled by a Dimorphodon.

It is too small to lift Bilbo off the ground, but it still seems intent on killing him. Thorin aims his rifle at it, but a scream from Kíli causes him to turn.

A Pteranodon is swooping in on his nephews. Before Thorin even has time to realise he’s done it, he has pulled the trigger and shot the creature down. It crashes to the ground, skidding towards the boys, missing them by a hair’s breadth.

Thorin then turns back to Bilbo, who is barely just keeping the Dimorphodon from snapping his face off. Anger rises in him, white-hot and blinding, and once more without hesitation, he shoots the Dimorphodon, and it rolls off Bilbo with a twitch.

Thorin shoots it three more times, to be safe. Heart racing, chest heaving, he slowly lowers the rifle, and steps off the planter to offer a hand to help Bilbo up. Bilbo’s hand is warm in his, and there is something in his eyes that sparks a strange warmth in Thorin’s belly.

It’s as if he’d meant to do this from the start. Thorin steps forward, and Bilbo reaches out, cupping his cheek, and there’s a question in his eyes that Thorin’s own smile screams yes at. Yes, _yes_ , a thousand times over.

And he only briefly glimpses the wondrous smile breaking across Bilbo’s face before the man’s lips are on his.

* * *

“...Is that Indâd?” demands Kíli as he and Fíli clamber to their feet. Balin, a couple paces away, chuckles as he folds his hands behind his back.

“It was about time,” says Balin, and Fíli looks at the assistant oddly, but Balin seems to have no eyes for anything other than Thorin and this strange man, wrapped in each other’s embrace and kissing as if they weren’t in the middle of a Pterosaur attack.

But finally, eventually, they break apart, and Thorin turns to see Fíli and Kíli, his expression lighting up even further. Fíli’s not sure when he had last seen their uncle look this elated to see them. He’s pretty sure, however, that it is a good change.

“Fíli! Kíli! Oh, bless Mahal, you’re alive!” Thorin is racing towards them, and Fíli takes in properly just how dishevelled his uncle looks with his slicked back hair now a disarray, his button down all tattered and dirtied and hanging open over his undershirt, his trousers and shoes splattered with mud. The man he had been kissing follows at a couple paces behind. He’s shorter than Thorin, with windswept golden curls and a kind, earnest face at odds with the rifle slung over his back.

“Where have you been? Why didn’t you return to the resort? Are you hurt?” demands Thorin as he enfolds Kíli in an embrace. Kíli hugs back, although more tentatively. Fíli can tell his brother is just as curious about the new man as he.

“Who’s that?” Fíli asks, and Thorin freezes as Bilbo approaches. He slowly rises to his feet and smiles briefly.

“This is Bilbo. We work together,” he says, cheeks flushing maroon, and despite Balin’s snide comment, Fíli doesn’t believe him for a second.

Bilbo waves at them with a small smile, before looking at Thorin. “We need to get out of here,” he says. Thorin nods, and gestures for Fíli and Kíli to follow him before turning to Balin.

“Mr Fundinsson, I believe I owe you a raise. Please stay safe, get out on the next ferry. I will contact you as soon as I can.”

Balin nods, clapping Thorin on the shoulder. “Take care, laddie,” he says with a wink, and Fíli can’t help but feel slightly disappointed as the man steps away. For someone they spent the entire day avoiding, he wasn’t half bad in the end.

* * *

The doors to the lift slide open. Bard turns to see a man, tall and smug, stepping into the Control Room, flashing a badge at the guard at the door before leading eight more people inside, all clad in black.

“Angmar,” says the man, flashing his badge at Dwalin as well. Dwalin’s eyes narrow.

“I know who you are,” he says. “What do you want?”

“If you know who I am, you’ll know what I want,” replies Angmar, as the people in black begin to place boxes of material in the Control Room.

 _Military intelligence equipment_ , Bard quickly realises.

“The deaths of all of the people who gave their lives in defence of this park should not be in vain,” continues Angmar as he perches against one of the monitors. “And the answer to the question we have in front of us —” here, he waves at the screens, “lies right under our noses.”

“You want the Raptors to chase down Smaug,” states Dwalin.

“I do, sir,” replies Angmar with a smirk. “They take orders now, the Raptors. They’ll be perfect for tracking down and killing this rogue dinosaur. No one else has to die.”

Dwalin snorts. “Mr Baggins would never approve of it.”

“I don’t need his approval, not when I have the Board of Directors’,” retorts Angmar. “And even Baggins would see now that we’ve exhausted all other options.”

He pauses, grinning at Bard, who shivers at the unnatural whiteness of his teeth, before continuing.

“As head of security for ArkCorp, I henceforth declare this situation as an emergency operation, and thus relieve the rest of you from your duties. There is a new team on the ground.”


	4. Chapter 4

Thorin dials Bard as soon as they’re behind the scenes, heading towards the Control Room. His calls directly to Control have encountered busy lines, so there’s no choice left except to call Bard directly.

Bard picks up almost immediately. “Mr Durin!” he hisses.

“We’re heading to you,” says Thorin.

“No, no, bad idea!” Bard’s voice remains at a low, heated whisper. He seems to be in hiding. Thorin frowns at the implications — has the Calamitasaurus breached the Control Room already? — but then Bard is speaking again. “The Board of Directors went past you and gave control of emergency operations to the head of security for ArkCorp, some man named Angmar. He has this mad plan to use the Velociraptors to fight against the Calamitasaurus.”

Thorin pauses in the street. “Wait, why would he want to use the Raptors?” he demands, and up ahead, Bilbo freezes.

“That son of a Warg!” hisses Bilbo, turning around to look at Thorin, and then upwards just as an ArkCorp helicopter comes flying overhead.

“Dwalin let him get away with this?” demands Thorin into the mobile.

“Angmar relieved him of duty and forcefully evacuated everyone in Control,” hisses Bard. “Hilda and I have given them the slip.”

Thorin grits his teeth at this new betrayal, just as the big gates leading from behind the scenes to the park burst open, and dozens upon dozens of screaming guests pour into the street, running from the Pteranodon screeching in triumph over their heads.

“Take your nephews, get them somewhere safe!” Bilbo barks, slinging his rifle down and aiming it at the Pteranodon.

“I will not leave you!” snaps Thorin. Bilbo fires at the Pteranodon; the guests scatter as it falls to the ground, injured. Thorin grabs Bilbo’s wrist and drags him backwards to one of the trucks still in the alley, his nephews following just behind. Bilbo clambers into the driver’s seat, and, as soon as everyone else is in, puts the truck in reverse and drives them backwards down a side alley.

All of the guests rush on ahead, screaming in terror.

“This does _not_ feel safe,” Fíli mutters.

“Can we stay with you?” adds Kíli. Thorin turns to his nephews incredulously.

“I am not leaving the two of you as long as I live,” he snaps.

Both boys point to Bilbo instead. “No, no, not you, _him_!” they chorus, and Thorin resists the urge to roll his eyes at them.

Bilbo turns to raise an eyebrow at the boys. “I come with four Velociraptors, lads,” he says.

Kíli nods. “Yeah, definitely him.”

By the time the truck reaches the Velociraptor enclosure, night is already swiftly falling on the island. Floodlights have been set up around the enclosure, and heavily-armed security personnel are arriving in trucks, carrying crates into the medical shelter next to the enclosure.

Bilbo pulls up to the enclosure and is leaping out of the van almost as soon as he kills the engine, striding out with a positively thunderous expression on his face. Thorin turns to the boys.

“Stay here,” he instructs, before exiting the van after Bilbo.

Bilbo has barely made two paces when Angmar appears, smirking and looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the mother hen returning to the henhou —” Angmar doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before Bilbo punches him squarely in the jaw.

“Don’t you _dare_ lay a finger on my girls,” hisses Bilbo as Angmar staggers backwards, massaging his jaw and glowering at him. “Get yourself and your people out of here.”

“You wanted this to happen, Angmar, did you not?” asks Thorin, scowling. “And you went behind my back to do it too, _shekar_!”

“You say that now, Durin, but who’s the real coward here?” demands Angmar. “Is it the one who has a plan to save everyone’s lives, or the one who will slink back to his miserable hole because he’s too scared to let anyone else near his animals?” He turns to Bilbo, a real hint of anger in his voice now, yet his tone remains low and dangerous. “There will be reporters here tomorrow, mark my words, reporters from all over Middle-earth. What kind of story do we want to give them — one of death and destruction, or one of hope? One of you and your Raptors becoming heroes, or one of you standing in the way of the only thing that could’ve saved all of those people’s lives?”

Bilbo’s gaze is steely, yet somehow uncertain; there is a vulnerability in the lines of his face as he looks at Thorin, as if seeking reassurance. Thorin reaches out, squeezes his hands.

 _Whatever you choose, I will support_ , he thinks. Bilbo nods.

He turns to Angmar, but before he can say anything, Bofur comes storming over, his expression mutinous.

“You can’t do this, Angmar!” he snaps. “You might think this is a field test, but they’re not going to know that, the Raptors. All they know is that they’re on a hunt, and that they don’t trust you. They’ll get what they want. And it’s usually what they want to _eat_.”

Angmar sneers at him. “We have ways to stop them from turning on us,” he drawls.

“Do you, _really_?” wonders Bilbo drily.

“This is madness,” agrees Bofur, his jaw hard in defiance.

“ _This_ ,” retorts Angmar, gesturing to the military crates, “is going to happen, whether you will it or not.” In a louder voice, he shouts, “Move them out!”

Bilbo’s jaw only tightens at that, but he finally gives one short nod. “Alright,” he says, his voice still clearly displeased. “If this is the will of ArkCorp, I find I have no choice but to see it done.”

“I’m glad we came to that agreement.” Angmar’s smirk is satisfied.

“You may have my help, but I will carry out the mission my way,” continues Bilbo, completely ignoring Angmar’s last comment. Thorin can’t help but smile at how determined he looks. “I will lead the team.” A pause. “Both humans and dinosaurs.”

“Agreed,” says Angmar.

* * *

The park has fallen silent.

Tired and resigned guests are leaning against one another in the in the lobby of the darkened resort. Medics are moving through the crowds, offering bandages and water.

_The next ferry leaves in half an hour. Priority boarding will be given to those with medical needs._

Tauriel is having her wounds checked by a medic. Dr Ioreth has shadows under her eyes as she cleans up Tauriel’s newest injuries, but she doesn’t ask too many questions about how she got them, which Tauriel is thankful for.

“Do you know if the thing’s still out there?” asks the healer once she puts on a new plaster onto one of Tauriel’s injuries.

Tauriel shrugs in response. “I’ve certainly had no news telling me otherwise,” she replies.

Dr Ioreth’s hand pauses. “That’s all anyone will talk about right now, _news_ ,” she says. “I hear there’s reporters gathered on the mainland waiting to interview people who step off the ferries.”

“I’m surprised none of them have tried to hitch a ride over,” replies Tauriel with a snort.

“The Eriadorian News are giving people regular updates on the situation.”

Tauriel nods. “Probably not going to be good publicity for the park,” she says, with a sigh. “Think we’ll close?”

Dr Ioreth chuckles darkly. “Think we’re as good as closed already,” she mutters. “What with that Glaurunging dinosaur on the rampage, setting loose the birds from the aviary —”

“Say that again,” says Tauriel suddenly.

“Setting loose the birds?” asks Dr Ioreth.

“No, a little earlier.”

“Glaurunging dinosaur on the rampage?”

“Glaurung,” repeats Tauriel. “Where have I heard that name before?”

Dr Ioreth purses her lips. “I believe it was from the old park?” she asks. “I never worked there, but I heard there were studies done in the old park on this one Velociraptor named Glaurung that proved that some species of dinosaur were capable of rapid skill acquisition —”

_Life cannot be contained. Especially not intelligent life._

Tauriel rises to her feet and smiles at Dr Ioreth, the words of her father ringing in her ears. _That_ was where.

“Thank you for your help,” she says.

Dr Ioreth springs up as well. “You can’t possibly be —” she begins, but Tauriel is already racing back towards the park, swerving through the crowds of guests as she does so. She hears distantly the medic shouting her name, but she pays her no heed.

The Calamitasaurus is, in fact, starting to look very similar...

* * *

Thorin soon finds himself with the other security personnel gathered around a table in the open-air medical shelter, watching Bilbo spread out a map of the park with an odd sort of reverence. Little routes on the map have been marked out in red on the map. Thorin meets Bilbo’s eyes across the table; he nods towards one of the routes and raises an eyebrow. Bilbo laughs sheepishly.

“It’s the girls’ favourite walking paths,” he says, fondly tracing one of the routes, “from when they were younger and we could actually walk them outside the enclosure. Frodo had a particular fondness for these hills, these fields… these little rivers.”

Thorin swallows, sending a look to the enclosure behind them, where the sounds of low growls can be heard. As soon as everyone involved in the mission has assembled, Bilbo begins the briefing.

The Calamitasaurus had last been seen prowling in the jungles of Sector Five. Bilbo and Bofur frequently ran a scenting drill known as ‘hide and seek’ with the Raptors, where they would give them a scent and have them track down the scent’s origin.

“These Raptors have a 98% success rate in tracking down the origin of the scents we give them. They _will_ be on target, and when they do find the Calamitasaurus, _wait_ before you go running in like a fool with your guns blazing. Velociraptors are pack hunters, which means they lure the target into a kill zone prior to attack. This means we will have one good shot. Wait until my command before you fire, and for the love of Eru do _not_ shoot my girls. _Please_.”

There are murmurs of assent. The briefing ends soon after, once Bilbo has answered some people’s questions. As Bofur begins (however reluctantly) to ready his and Bilbo’s motorbikes for the operation, Bilbo pulls Thorin aside.

“You need to stay with your nephews,” he says without preamble. Thorin scowls.

“I want to _help_ ,” he insists.

“You’ll be helping by making sure they’re safe,” replies Bilbo, running his hand slowly down one of Thorin’s forearms. Thorin inadvertently shivers a little at the touch, eyes closing briefly. Bilbo’s expression is grave yet kind when he opens his eyes. “I have a feeling something’s going to go wrong.”

“With that attitude, something will,” replies Thorin, his lips quirking slightly.

Bilbo chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s just… I don’t trust Angmar. Bo tells me the bastard’s been agitating the girls. They’ll have no wish to follow him, and if it wasn’t for me, they’d probably kill him.”

“Well, then, we are fortunate to have you here,” says Thorin with a slight chuckle. Bilbo’s face breaks into that wonderful smile again, his hand reaching upwards to entangle his fingers in Thorin’s hair. Thorin presses his forehead against Bilbo’s, one hand reaching out to draw the man closer to him, basking in his presence.

“Would you like to meet them?” Bilbo asks after a moment. “The girls, I mean,” he adds. Thorin nods, and Bilbo pulls back, taking his hand and leading him towards the enclosure.

Fíli and Kíli are already at the gate into the antechamber when they approach, watching Bofur soothe one of the four Velociraptors resting in their head harnesses, having recently been fitted with headset cameras. “What are their names?” asks Kíli, turning to Bilbo as he approaches them.

“Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin,” says Bilbo, opening the enclosure. He lets Thorin in, but closes the gate on Fíli and Kíli, who send him matching disappointed looks. “Some other time, boys, they’re not used to having so many strangers approaching them at the same time.”

“Are they ever going to be in the park?” asks Kíli. Thorin feels a prick of guilt in his gut. Would the park ever remain open, with all that has happened today?

“Not unless they behave,” replies Bilbo with a fond smile, before turning to the Raptor with the green feathers. “This one is Pippin, our youngest one. She’s very mischievous, and always has food on the mind.”

Pippin gives a low growl. Thorin presses a little closer to Bilbo.

“I don’t think she likes me,” he admits.

“You’re just new,” replies Bilbo, before moving down the line to the Raptor with the yellow-green feathers. “This is Merry. Most of the handlers call her Smirky, because she’s got a bit of an offset jaw from her battle with Frodo for leadership of the pack, and seems to be constantly smirking at people.”

“Did she get the scar on her eye in that same battle?” asks Kíli from the fence.

“Yup,” says Bilbo, and then gestures to the brown-feathered Raptor that’s growling agitatedly in her harness. “That one’s Sam. She’s usually a little more demure than the others, but right now you’re not seeing her in her usual state.”

“She’s my favourite,” adds Bofur, stroking Sam soothingly.

Bilbo chuckles. At a low growl from the blue-feathered Raptor behind him, he sighs, and reaches out to stroke its head. “I was getting to you, Frodo, don’t be impatient.” He then turns to Thorin and the boys, his hand firm against the Raptor’s feathers. “And of course, this is Frodo. She’s the Beta.”

“Who’s the Alpha?” asks Fíli.

Bilbo winks at Thorin. “You’re looking at him.”

Fíli and Kíli giggle, and Thorin’s cheeks flare with heat. Around the Raptors, Bilbo seems so much more relaxed, so much more playful. Slowly, Thorin kneels down to face Frodo, who growls a little at him.

“Can I touch her?” asks Thorin quietly. Bilbo nods, kneeling down beside him and taking his hand. Slowly, he guides Thorin’s hand along the side of Frodo’s head, and Thorin marvels at the softness and warmth of the Raptor’s feathers.

He exhales, long and slow, trying to slow his racing heart. When he nods and pulls his hand away, he notices Fíli and Kíli grinning at him with identical smug looks on their faces.

“You two might be worse than the Raptors,” he rebukes, as he makes his way back to the gate. Bilbo lets him out of the antechamber, his expression a little more serious once more as he presses against the gate.

“Thorin, please. Stay behind with the boys,” he says.

“Wait, where are you going?” demands Kíli. Bilbo turns to him, reaching out to ruffle his hair. 

“We’re going on a mission, the girls, Bofur, and I,” he says. Thorin marvels at how easygoing the man is with his nephews, though it shouldn’t have been as surprising, considering all the experience the man has had.

“And we can’t come?” demands Fíli.

“It’s too dangerous,” replies Bilbo. “We have a vet ambulance that you two and your uncle can stay in, and we’ll give you a tablet linked to the Raptors’ cameras so you can watch what’s going on.”

“Why can’t we come?” Kíli’s expression is one of abject betrayal. Thorin sighs.

“Bilbo thinks that something might go wrong on the mission. He doesn’t want us in harm’s way,” he replies, and the thankful expression that Bilbo sends him causes butterflies to erupt in his stomach.

“If something goes wrong, your uncle can drive the two of you to safety,” Bilbo adds.

The boys still seem a bit dejected at not being allowed to go on the mission, but they agree to stay behind anyway. As Thorin leads them to the vet ambulance, he looks back to see Bilbo still looking at him from within the enclosure.

It might be one of the more stupider choices that he’s made, but the moment Fíli and Kíli are ensconced in the back of the vet ambulance, Thorin rushes back to the enclosure.

“Bilbo!” he yells, and Bilbo, who has been soothing Frodo, turns to see him. Thorin presses his face against the bars at the side of the enclosure, and Bilbo comes to him, seeming to know exactly what Thorin wants. _Also probably because of his experience_ , Thorin thinks wildly, just moments before his lips meet Bilbo’s, and then all thoughts of the world outside the softness of Bilbo’s lips are chased away.

He’s not sure how long they remain like this, and for all he cares they could have stayed there forever. But finally they break apart, Thorin panting a little too loudly, and Bilbo looks just as stunned as Thorin feels.

“Take care,” says Thorin, and he doesn’t care how cheesy it sounds, because Bilbo’s answering smile is worth it.

* * *

The moment the back doors of the vet ambulance close, Kíli turns to Fíli.

“Nothing’s going to get us, right?” he asks, and his voice is small, as if he’s a child once more, and Fíli has no idea what to do except to put an arm around his brother.

“You remember that old home in the Blue Mountains?” he asks

“The one with the drafty rafters?” Kíli leans in towards his brother, and Fíli lets him, his arm squeezing slightly, holding Kíli close.

“You thought the wind whistling through the rafters at night were ghosts coming to get you.”

Kíli rolls his eyes. “I was five,” he says, a little defensively.

“You also asked me to check for monsters under your bed,” Fíli retorts.

“So you gave me a spray bottle full of water to shoot at the monsters.” Kíli sighs. “Not much use against dinosaurs, though.”

“No dinosaurs are going to get you,” insists Fíli. “Not while I’m here.”

“But you might not always be.”

“We’re brothers, Kee,” insists Fíli, turning so he can press their foreheads together. He himself is terrified, too, terrified of the consequences of the mission failing, terrified that they might not make the night. But he can’t show any of that to his little brother. He has to be strong. “We’re brothers, and that means we’re always going to find some way back to one another. No matter what.”

Kíli nods. “No matter what.”

* * *

The lab is dimly-lit but empty, most of the scientists working within having already been evacuated.

Tauriel’s footsteps are silent as she moves through the lab, noticing several lit-up tanks of modern animals crawling in the eerie half-dark. A Haradrim tree frog seems to smirk at her from the side of its water bowl, and a Gondorian cuttlefish peers out from under a piece of coral, its skin the exact same pattern as the coral it was hiding in.

She steps away from the tanks when she notices the embryo incubators, still humming from the power created by the backup generators. Tauriel’s fingers trace the labels on the incubators, humming under her breath as she reads them. Apatosaurus, Baryonyx… _Calamitasaurus_.

One of the computers nearby is still on. Tauriel creeps over to check the screen, and inhales sharply when she sees what it’s displaying.

It’s the genetic profile of the Calamitasaurus Dominus.

* * *

“Why do you always insist on wearing that hat on these excursions?” demands Bilbo as he looks back from where he’s seated astride Myrtle, his motorbike.

Next to him, Bofur laughs and adjusts the flaps a little more. “Don’t mock my cousin’s handiwork,” he declares. Bilbo chuckles, turning back to face the front.

They’re standing at the edge of the jungle, right next to the holding pens containing the Raptors. Earlier, Bilbo had given them Smaug’s scent via the tracker implant that the creature had dug out. Now, if the sounds of shuffling and growling are of any indication, the Raptors are dying to be set on the chase.

He nods at Bofur. Bofur nods back.

Bilbo gives the signal. From above the holding pen, his face pale with fear, the new assistant Ori hits the button to release the Raptors.

And then off they shoot into the undergrowth, faster than arrows from the string, and Bilbo quickly kicks off and follows his girls into the darkness of the jungle. Bofur would lead the rest of Angmar’s team a couple paces behind. Now, it is just him and the pack, and the excitement of the chase.

Bilbo hadn’t always been this exhilarated at the prospect of racing through a darkened jungle with only vicious Velociraptors for company. He hadn’t even wanted the job of training the Raptors to begin with. But Gandalf had thought he was in need of an adventure, and taken him to the hatchery on the Lonely Isle to see the eggs, and, _well_. The instant Frodo’s eyes had peered at him from the hole in the shell of her egg, Bilbo had been hooked.

The fact that Frodo and the rest of the pack wouldn’t stop following him around in their infancy only further sealed the deal.

As he pushes Myrtle onwards over logs and under tree branches, his heart beating with the thrill of the hunt, Bilbo marvels at how fortunate he is to be able to have formed such bonds with these creatures. They flank him as their Alpha, sending him encouraging shrieks as they go, and he can’t help but grin at them as they press onward towards their prize as a team. A pack.

And he wonders how he must look to Thorin sitting in that ambulance back at the enclosure.

* * *

Inside the ambulance, Fíli and Kíli slide open the window to look into the front of the ambulance. Thorin is seated in the driver’s seat, a tablet open on his lap with video feeds from the cameras mounted on the Raptors. Thorin is watching them avidly, as Bilbo’s motorbike takes point position in an attack formation with the Raptors.

“Your boyfriend’s a badass,” remarks Fíli, and Thorin chuckles a little.

“I can’t wait to tell Amad,” adds Kíli, and the chuckle turns into a groan.

“ _Please_ do not tell your Amad,” he mutters, just as his mobile rings. He takes it out; the screen reads that he has a message from an unknown number. As Fíli watches, Thorin opens it to reveal several pictures of a screen.

Thorin’s brows furrow. “Do you know what this is?” he asks, showing the mobile to Fíli and Kíli. Fíli takes it, and Kíli crowds in around him, peering at the message.

“Notes,” says Kíli. “They’re lab notes.”

“About what?” ask Thorin from up front. Fíli zooms in on one of the images.

“The creation of the Calamitasaurus,” he says.

“Who sent it?” demands Thorin.

“Someone with access to the notes,” mutters Fíli almost distractedly as he flips through the images. “There’s stuff about the animals that went into the creature, and all of the aggressive predatorial instincts that they were trying to bring out.” He pauses, noticing a new name. “And what’s Glaurung?”

There’s a sharp thud, and moments later Thorin turns back to the window.

“Those _bastards_ ,” he hisses.

* * *

Finally, in a little clearing in the middle of the jungle, the Raptors slow down. Bilbo stops Myrtle, signalling for Bofur and the truck to stop, too, and immediately the security personnel pour out of the truck, guns at the ready. Bilbo grabs his own rifle, and follows them into the trees.

The Raptors are at the edge of another clearing several paces away. Bilbo and Bofur, their guns at the ready, kneel down in the undergrowth just mere feet away from the assembled Raptors.

There’s a low growl in the trees. The Raptors chitter amongst themselves, feathers bristling as they talk. The growling grows louder, accompanied by the slow thudding approach of the Calamitasaurus.

And then, slowly, the red-gold form of Smaug appears slithering out of the trees, looking down at the Raptors as it appears, and the Raptors stare back, making no move to attack.

Bofur looks at Bilbo uncertainly. Bilbo shakes his head. _Hold your fire_.

The Calamitasaurus gives a call. The Raptors answer.

“Something’s wrong,” whispers Bofur. Bilbo stares onwards in morbid fascination, as the Raptors begin to chitter in response to the Calamitasaurus’s growls.

“Bilbo, they’re communicating,” insists Bofur, and Bilbo’s heart begins to sink. This is not supposed to happen. What changed?

Up ahead, the Calamitasaurus’s growls subside. Then, very slowly, the Raptors begin to turn around, and Bilbo’s heart hammers wildly in his chest as he realises what is going on.

“Thorin told me some of the dinosaurs that went into making this hybrid,” he says quietly. “I don’t think he told me all of them.”

* * *

Having finished sending the images of the lab notes to Fíli and Kíli’s uncle, Tauriel is just straightening up and putting her mobile back when she hears the click of a gun.

Slowly, she sets the mobile down and raises her hands, turning around slowly to see Dr Curunír standing there, a gun in one hand and a briefcase in the other.

“How much do you know?” asks Dr Curunír.

“Glaurung,” says Tauriel. “The most intelligent Velociraptor you ever de-extincted. You put Glaurung’s DNA into _that_ creature.”

“Intelligence is an apex predator trait,” replies Dr Curunír smoothly. “I was merely following orders. They ask me to make an apex predator, so I made one.”

“You didn’t have to make it clever enough to outwit the entire _park_!” snaps Tauriel. “That Raptor whose genes are in Smaug — that Raptor knew things it should not have known. It learnt new skills at an alarming rate, bordering even on our concept of sapience in the end — that’s all stuff you knew about, stuff _you_ gathered from the tragedy on this isle all those years ago!”

Dr Curunír’s expression is stony, impassive.

“You bottled up a _genius_ , Dr Curunír! You gave Smaug Glaurung’s intelligence and ability to pick up new skills at an unprecedented rate, and you locked her up in an enclosure too small for her and expected her to do tricks for the guests! You _wanted_ an escape to happen, didn’t you?”

“I had an arrangement with Mr Angmar, the head of security,” says Dr Curunír after a long, hard moment of silence. “He said he would continue funding for my research if I were to give him a field test of Baggins’ Velociraptors for his new military developments. The next day, Mr Durin’s memo about creating something bigger, better, and with more teeth appeared. It was my chance to kill two birds with one stone. Hence, the Calamitasaurus.”

Tauriel feels disgust curling in her belly the longer she looks at this doctor. “People have _died_ ,” she spits. Dr Curunír laughs.

“People’s lives are going to be _saved_ with Raptors replacing drones and soldiers,” he argues, and, with his gun still trained on her, he moves towards the incubators. Punching in his passcode, the scientist removes several tubes of embryos and places them within his suitcase. Tauriel’s lip curls as she watches him.

Finally, he steps forward with his little case, the muzzle of the gun now inches from Tauriel’s forehead.

“You know I can’t let you remember this,” he says.

“Go on,” she growls. “Kill me. See how well that’ll turn out for you in the end.”

Dr Curunír’s expression twists. Without warning, his hand turns and the butt of the gun comes slamming down on her head instead, and the last thing Tauriel wonders about before the world goes dark is why no one ever bothers to help her alleviate her headaches.

* * *

With a shout, the team opens fire, and Bilbo finds himself being pulled right into the battle, firing at the Calamitasaurus as it turns tail and storms back into the undergrowth. Someone’s rocket launcher grazes it in the flank, but all it does is set the forest alight for a brief moment; the dinosaur falls with a roar, but is up in an instant as well.

The Raptors disappear into the trees with skittering cries.

Bilbo rises to his feet, his heart pounding wildly as he starts to venture into the undergrowth, following the other soldiers. “Be on your guard!” he instructs. “The Raptors have a new Alpha!”

The words have barely left his mouth when he hears a rustle and a screech, followed by a strangled cry. The Raptors have turned on them.

Chaos descends on the mission as one by one the security personnel are picked off by the Raptors. The rest begin to flee, with shouts of “Fall back!” echoing in the night and the sound of the truck and one of the motorbikes starting up. It sounds like Bofur’s.

There’s a skittering near him, and suddenly out of the long grass Pippin’s head pops up, eyes glinting in the dark, feathers bristling. Bilbo slowly lowers his gun, not wanting to shoot the Raptor, and Pippin peers back, cocking her head to the side and eying him in recognition.

There’s a loud roar and an explosion, and Bilbo is knocked back by the sheer force of it, and he could swear he hears Pippin’s low growl amid the ringing in his ears.

“Pip!” he cries, “Pip, _no_!”

He crawls forward, desperate to find some sign that his Raptor is still alive, that Pippin didn’t just get killed by some ArkCorp goon’s rocket launcher, but all he finds is grass slick with bloody feathers and a fire slowly starting to spread.

With a growl of his own, Bilbo races back to his motorbike, pausing only when he sees Frodo perched on a log, scratching wildly at something contained within.

“ _Frodo_!” Bofur’s voice resounds from within the log, his voice reprimanding. Bilbo immediately starts up his engine, grabbing Frodo’s attention.

With a whistle, Bilbo turns his bike around, and as he races back to the enclosure, he hears the skittering of Frodo’s claws behind him, and hopes that Bofur is now safe.

* * *

Thorin stares at the screen of the tablet in morbid fascination, watching the camera feeds of the four Raptors. Three of them are giving chase, and one seems to be dragging itself through the undergrowth, growling in pain.

“Oh Mahal,” he whispers. If only he had known the information earlier, that the Calamitasaurus had all of Glaurung’s intelligence and ability to sway other creatures to her will — if only he had told Bilbo in time, if only! But no, Dr Curunír and Angmar had clearly intended this from the beginning, and it was Thorin’s own request for a terrifying hybrid that sealed the deal.

He was singularly responsible for the deaths of all of these people. And the weight of that is far too heavy to bear.

“Is everyone dead?” asks Kíli suddenly, and Thorin turns to look at him, wondering what he’ll have to say to the rest of his family. Yes. Everyone’s dead because Thorin Durin couldn’t bloody realise in time that the creature he ordered to be created was an intelligent killing machine. He had been so wrapped up in realising his grandfather’s dream that he had lost sight of the value of other lives. Even that of Smaug’s.

Assets versus lives. Hasn’t Bilbo been telling him this from the start of the entire fiasco?

“No,” he lies to Kíli, because the boy is scared and the truth can be bent when people are scared. “We’re going to be all right.”

“I want to go home,” says Fíli, his voice quiet.

“You will,” says Thorin. “I will do everything I can to get you on a plane back home, and your mother will never let me speak to you again.”

“But you have to come with us, Indâd!” exclaims Kíli. “You’re our family! You matter to us!”

“I’m a killer,” admits Thorin, shaking his head, gesturing to the tablet screen. “Look at all of this. I gave the order for Smaug to be created. I caused all of this.”

“But you didn’t know what the scientists put into that creature,” argues Fíli. “You didn’t want any of this to happen.”

“I had everything in place,” says Thorin quietly, looking back at these two boys, these two wonderful nephews of his. What did he do to deserve them? “I thought I was prepared for something like this to happen. The fences, the trackers — everything. Especially after… after —” He chuckles. “There had been a Dilophosaurus that we captured, separated from her pack. She escaped within a week, and ACU couldn’t capture her even with the implant we’d put in her. We’d strengthened our security after that. Made it impossible for any of these creatures to leave their sectors without being electrocuted.”

He pauses, looking at the stunned expressions on the boys’ faces.

“You know I was there with your mother during the first tragedy,” he continues quietly. “Looks like I’ve learnt nothing since then. Nothing but fear and a desperation to do good by this family.”

“Indâd —” begins Kíli, but suddenly there’s the slam of a body against the driver’s side window, and Thorin screams at the bloodied handprint of the soldier shouting for them to go. Without hesitation he starts the ambulance, and his blood runs cold when he hears another shocked scream from the back, followed by the sound of a vicious growl.

“Is everything okay back there?” he shouts.

“Drive faster!” the boys chorus, and Thorin nearly floors the gas pedal as he drives away from the enclosure.

Forget the first chase by the Calamitasaurus. This is the most terrifying drive he had ever been on. While the last one was simply him trying to survive, this one finds him responsible for both himself and the boys. And there’s a pack of Velociraptors on their tail, if the screeching and skittering is of any indication.

There’s a crash as Sam bursts her head in through the window, snapping at him, but Thorin swerves by a tree, knocking the Raptor from the side of the ambulance. In the back he hears his nephews yelling and the hum of a cattle prod.

“What’s going on?” Thorin demands, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“There’s a Raptor gaining on us!” screams Fíli.

“The back doors are opened?” exclaims Thorin.

“Just drive faster!” retorts Fíli.

“This is as fast as I can go!”

There’s the sound of a clattering can, followed by a loud screech. Thorin looks out his side mirror to see Sam coming back for another attempt, and quickly swerves again to cut her off.

Another growl, and then the snap of teeth. The cattle prod buzzes as it hits its target. Thorin’s breath hitches, but he keeps his eyes fixed on the road.

“Are you boys okay back there?” he calls.

He’s met with the sound of the window sliding open again. “Did you see that?” demands Fíli. “Kee just took out a Raptor with a cattle prod!”

“I can’t wait to tell Amad!” repeats Kíli, and Thorin groans even louder this time.

“None of this is ever reaching your Amad's ears,” he growls. “Not if you value my life.”

Then there comes the sound of a motorbike, and the boys are screaming Bilbo’s name, clamouring for him to get into the ambulance. But the motorbike swerves, and suddenly Bilbo is at Thorin’s side again, looking up at him.

“You look well,” remarks Bilbo, and Thorin can’t help but give a short bark of laughter, because he’s quite sure he’s added blood to the mixture of stains on his clothing right now.

“Where do we need to go?” he asks, and Bilbo speeds up his motorbike to overtake the ambulance.

“Inside!” he shouts over his shoulder. “Follow me!”

And Thorin follows, hoping that Bilbo has a plan of some sort to get them out of this.

* * *

Bard’s mobile vibrates as he and Hilda creep through the darkened labs. He picks up, ducking underneath a desk as the sound of footsteps resound from behind.

“Mr Durin?” he asks.

“Bard,” hisses Thorin from the other end. “Can you get to Control?”

“There’s people in the hallway,” whispers Hilda as she kneels beside the desk, peering over the top. “I think they’re Angmar’s. They don’t look pleased.”

Bard nods, before turning back to the mobile. “I’m in the labs right now, but I think I can get up there, yes,” he whispers.

“Good. Get there, call a chopper. We’re headed your way. Where’s Angmar?”

“I don’t know,” admits Bard. “Probably with his people, though they don’t look very pleased — did something go wrong?”

“The Raptors turned on us,” says Thorin, and Bard’s breath comes out sharp. “Call in a chopper, all right? We’ll get out of this, trust me.”

“I do, sir,” says Bard, and hangs up. Hilda is looking at something in the lab, her eyes wide. Bard’s gaze follows, and lands on a hand from behind another lab station.

The hand belongs to a young woman with fiery red hair. Bard reaches out to her neck, sighing in relief when he feels a pulse. “She’s still alive,” he says.

Hilda winces at the bruise forming on the side of the woman’s face. “She needs medical assistance.”

Bard nods. “Get her out of the park,” he says. “All the medics should be tending to the guests at the resort. Get her there; she’ll be taken care of.”

“Aren’t you coming?” asks Hilda, frowning slightly. Bard shakes his head.

“Someone’s got to stay behind,” he replies, looking upwards to where the Control Room should be. Hilda understands, and nods at him, reaching out to enfold him in an embrace.

“Stay safe,” she suggests as she pulls out her own mobile to call for a medic, and Bard nods as he rises to his feet to leave the darkened lab.

* * *

As Fíli and Kíli follow their uncle and Bilbo down the avenue leading up to the Visitor’s Centre, the first thing they notice is the ambulance parked at the entrance. A team of medics is carrying a stretcher down the steps, accompanied by a woman in a suit and a hat.

“Hilda!” exclaims Thorin. The woman looks up. “Who’s that?” he asks, gesturing to the figure on the stretcher.

But Fíli recognises the body, and his heart sinks, and Kíli only confirms it when he darts up to get a better look.

“Tauriel!” he screams suddenly, his face pale with dismay. He whirls around to face Hilda. “Is she dead?” he demands.

Hilda shakes her head. “We’re getting her to the field hospital,” she says, as the medics load the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. Kíli hesitates, evidently wanting to follow, but Fíli tugs at his hand, dragging him into the Visitor’s Centre.

Dark figures are moving through the labs when they pass by. Bilbo and Thorin pause, peering into the evacuated space. The figures seem to be near the incubators, taking out all of the contents within and placing them in suitcases.

“What in the Giver’s name are they doing?” hisses Bilbo.

“ _That_ , Baggins, I’m afraid, is above your pay grade.”

Angmar slides out of the shadows at that moment, tucking a small flash drive into his pocket as he does so.

“Not mine,” says Thorin, stepping forward. “Answer him.”

“Someone has to ensure that ArkCorp has a future,” replies Angmar, “especially since you don’t seem to be interested in it.”

“How _dare_ you,” hisses Thorin.

“Scientific progress on these animals has moved beyond just providing creatures for theme parks,” snaps Angmar. “We have to turn our attentions to matters of defence and security.”

“You’re going to weaponise the Calamitasaurus,” states Bilbo, his voice disbelieving.

“At a fraction of its current size, yes,” replies Angmar. “Think about it. It’s intelligent, fast, able to hide from the most advanced developments in weapons technology. And it’s vicious and cunning. It turns other animals against their keepers.”

Fíli notices Bilbo’s gritted teeth.

“In fact, nature —” but Angmar is cut off mid-sentence by a screech. There’s a ruffle of brown feathers as Sam approaches, and Fíli finds himself being backed away by Bilbo, who has put himself between them and the Raptor.

Angmar, on the other hand, is alone, and Sam turns to face him, growling lowly as she starts to back him into the nearest wall.

“Easy!” exclaims Angmar. “Easy, boy!” His voice is slowly getting more and more panicked the closer Sam moves to him. “We’re… we’re on the same side, right? You and I? Right?”   

Sam cocks her head, her growls low and menacing. Angmar slowly lifts a hand in the halt gesture.

“Easy,” he repeats, and Sam lowers her head slowly. “That’s a good boy. Easy.”

And then, without warning, Sam darts forward, her teeth clamping down firmly on Angmar’s arm. His scream fills the hall as Bilbo starts pushing the rest of them back out of the Visitor’s Centre, and Fíli can’t help but look back in morbid fascination at the twitch of Sam’s tail knocking over all the exhibits.

“When are you ever going to learn, Angmar?” shouts Bilbo over his shoulder as Fíli finally reaches the door. “These Raptors are not boys!”

And with that, the four of them are out on the steps of the Visitor’s Centre. The ambulance has by now pulled away, but their absence is filled by something else.

Frodo and Merry are slowly advancing up the steps towards them. There’s a screech from behind, and Sam emerges from the building behind. Fíli looks around, fear pounding through him. They’re trapped.

“So that’s how it is, then?” asks Bilbo quietly. Fíli turns to see him addressing Frodo, who has approached with a quieter hiss. “My little girls are all grown up and want adventures of their own.”

Frodo stops in front of her Alpha, her feathers shining in the streetlamps of the park. She growls and snaps, but Bilbo’s hand is sure as it reaches out to her.

“Easy,” he says, his voice gentle as he unbuckles the camera strapped to Frodo’s head. “That’s it. Easy.”

Fíli wonders if it’s a trick of the light, but is that _gratitude_ in the Raptor’s eyes? He doesn’t have much time to look, though, because suddenly there’s another roar, and the now-familiar approach of the Calamitasaurus causes the Raptors to turn around.

The Calamitasaurus roars, almost as if to ask the Raptors why they hadn’t killed them yet, Bilbo and Thorin and Kee and Fíli himself, and Frodo does turn around, a low snarl rippling at her blue-feathered throat, and for one terrifying moment Fíli thinks that she’s going to do it.

And then Frodo turns around and screeches in the Calamitasaurus’s face, and the larger dinosaur gives an answering roar and knocks her into the side of a nearby shop.

Sam and Merry screech in anger. Bilbo looks from side to side, and then whistles.

The Raptors begin to attack, and Fíli finds himself being shoved to the side again as Thorin pushes them out of harm’s way. He runs with Kíli, the two of them ducking into a nearby gift shop. Thorin joins them there moments later, all three of them crouching low to watch Bilbo shooting at the Calamitasaurus with his rifle from behind several large pieces of amber.

There’s a thud as a smaller body is thrown to the ground, followed by a roar, and several gunshots, and Fíli hears next to him the sound of his brother counting.

“We need more,” says Kíli after a moment.

“More what?” demands Thorin, as they hear the pained screech of the Raptor that was thrown off, answered by another one and the roar of the Calamitasaurus.

“More teeth,” says Kíli, and Fíli once again wonders if the newfound pallor in his uncle’s face is a trick of the light. But then Uncle Thorin steels himself, nods once, and climbs to his feet to fetch something from the medikit on the wall.

“Stay here, you two,” he says, his voice breathless with fear and determination. “I’ll get you your teeth.”

* * *

As Thorin races through the park, he thinks of rain and thunder. He remembers the roar echoing in his ears, the screams of his brother behind him. He had run and run, not daring to stop to mourn, the air in his lungs burning him with each step.

And he remembers the one who made him do it.

There’s no time for fear now, no time for second guessing. He stops before the massive concrete gates, and dials a number.

“Bard!” he shouts. “Are you still in Control?”

“Where are you?” demands Bard from the other end. “The chopper’s almost here!”

“I need you to open Paddock Nine!”

There’s a pause. And then Bard’s voice comes on again, worry evident in his tone. “Are you sure, Thorin?” he demands. “You’re going to die!”

Thorin takes a deep breath, steeling himself again as he looks up at the gates of Paddock Nine.

“No,” he says. “I will not die like this, cowering in a gift shop waiting to be clawed to death. Open that paddock.”

There’s a beep on the other end, and then slowly but surely, the gates begin to rise.

“You’ll never make it out,” says Bard quietly.

Thorin grits his teeth and strikes the flare. “We are going to kill that thing and end what we have started,” he snarls, as the flare burns bright red in front of him. “If this is to end in fire, then we will all burn together!”

And out of the shadows of the paddock comes the hulking footsteps of Azog, the Tyrannosaurus Rex, and Thorin stares into the scarred face of the creature that had killed his brother and his grandfather, the flare burning brightly in his hand, and runs.

His feet pound against the asphalt like never before, fear and anger driving him onwards. Azog follows with her own deafening roar, and Thorin grits his teeth, pushing his legs to carry him back to the park.

The screams of his brother echo in his ears, but Thorin doesn’t falter. _It’s a memory_ , he thinks to himself as the sparks of the flare burn at his arms. _I am going to escape this. Even if I caused all of this to happen — even if I’m responsible for all of those deaths, I can at least prevent three more_.

And with that last thought, the images of Bilbo, Fíli, and Kíli burst into his mind’s eye, and Thorin remembers Kíli hugging him, remembers Fíli comforting him in the truck. He remembers the smile on Bilbo’s face, and the softness of his lips against his.

He bursts into the main plaza once more, just as the Calamitasaurus makes one last swipe at the gift shop where the boys are hiding, and throws the flare towards the Calamitasaurus. It bounces off Smaug’s back, causing her to turn and roar at Thorin as if to demand what he’s brought for her to kill, but this time, the roar from Azog is her answer.

And Thorin ducks behind the model of a Stegosaurus as Azog bursts through the T-Rex skeleton in the plaza and engages Smaug in combat. He looks over at the gift shop, almost destroyed at this point, and sees Bilbo staring at him, wide-eyed.

“Run!” Thorin screams, and Bilbo and the boys don’t need any more encouragement. They clamber to their feet and dash to where he’s hiding, just shortly before Smaug’s tail finally wrecks the gift shop behind her, and all four of them peer out from behind to watch the two dinosaurs fight.

Azog starts out with the upper hand, but age has diminished her strength somewhat, and despite her vicious bites and scratches she is still no match for Smaug. Thorin’s heart leaps into his throat when he sees Smaug throwing Azog down onto the ruins of the gift shop, her teeth poised to bite into the other dinosaur’s throat.

And then there’s the skittering of claws against the ground, and Frodo, Sam, and Merry are running down the avenue, claws out and gaining speed as the air rings with their screeches. They leap onto the Calamitasaurus as one, tearing and biting, and Smaug rears up to respond to this new attack, granting Azog time to clamber back to her feet.

The battle begins anew, and Thorin, Bilbo, and the boys have to escape their latest hiding space as Smaug’s tail knocks down the Stegosaurus model in front of them. They race through broken shops and restaurants, avoiding falling beams and broken glass, watching as the sparks fly from Azog slamming Smaug into one of the other shops’ signs. Finally, overwhelmed by the attacks, Smaug staggers backwards towards the railing of the lagoon, and the Raptors and Azog slowly begin to advance on her for the killing blow.

But it never comes. As Smaug gives one final roar, the Mosasaurus leaps out of the water and clamps her tightly by the neck in its jaws, and with a triumphant growl, Alfrid retreats into the depths of her pool with her new dinner, and the waters of the lagoon once more become sparkling and still.

Thorin swallows as the T-Rex straightens up, and looks from the Raptors to where they are, huddled and dazed around a pillar in what used to be the food court. There is something weary in Azog’s eyes, and she tilts her head at them in a strange sort of understanding.

Frodo gives a low growl, and the T-Rex turns and slowly storms off into the darkness. Thorin exhales in relief, but at that moment Kíli collapses to the ground, and Thorin’s heart jumps back into his throat when he realises that Kíli’s hands are covered in his own blood.

“The Calamitasaurus must have scratched him,” says Fíli in response to Thorin’s panicked stare. His older nephew takes off his jacket and places it on Kíli’s abdomen, where a dark stain is starting to grow. Bilbo approaches, helping Fíli apply pressure as Thorin stumbles backwards, fingers fumbling in his pocket for his mobile.

No. Not now, not when he had just thought they’d make it after all. His fingers fumble with the screen and he almost drops it once, but eventually he manages to dial the number, breathing heavily and trying to slow his poor overworked heart. This could not be happening.

“Dr Óin!” he shouts into the mobile, even as Kíli starts to shiver and his eyes start to close. “Dr Óin, please, we need you in the park! There’s a — my nephew, it’s my nephew, he’s been injured by the Calamitasaurus, and I need you _here_!”

There’s a low growl from beside him, and the scratch of claws against concrete. As Thorin watches, his breath coming in anxious pants, Frodo approaches the fallen boy and spreads her feathers out over him, keeping him warm.

* * *

When the world comes into focus once more, Kíli finds himself looking into the anxious face of his mother, and for a brief, horrifying moment he wonders if it had all been a dream.

He reaches down, feels the bandages wound tightly around his abdomen, and realises that it wasn’t.

Dís Durin’s expression is haggard from worry, and as Kíli slowly raises himself up on his pillows, she gives a stifled sob and reaches forward to stroke his cheek.

“Akhûnith, you’ve been so brave,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to his forehead, and Kíli inhales her familiar perfume and smiles against her hands. “Does it hurt?”

Kíli shakes his head, though the pain that shoots up when he tries to shift his position again causes him to grimace, and her to raise an eyebrow at him. He finally shrugs, and nods.

“Where am I?” he asks.

“Dorwinion Coastal Hospital,” she says. “Your uncle had you flown here.”

Kíli tries to search his memory for this event, but the very last thing he remembers is the softness of feathers against his body, and Frodo’s intelligent stare as she approached him. “Frodo,” he says.

“Who’s Frodo?” asks Dís.

“She’s the Beta,” says Kíli. “One of Bilbo’s Raptors — where’s Indâd?”

“He and Fee are coming by later today,” says Dís with a soft smile. “Dwalin tells me that they’re at the airfield with everyone else who got off the island.” She pauses. “He also told me to tell you that a Tauriel Greenwood is alive and awake now, and is asking after you.”

Kíli grins. “Will she be able to come visit me?”

Dís raises an eyebrow. “A new friend of yours, Kee?”

“She saved my life, Amad, of course she's a friend,” says Kíli, leaning heavily against the pillows. His eyes then narrow as he remembers something. “Who’s Dwalin?” he asks, and Dís laughs.

“Captain Fundinsson? Oh, he helped your grandfather get me and Uncle Thorin off the island during the tragedy.” She ruffles his hair. “He's an old friend, too.”

Kíli blinks at her. “Was he the one you’ve been texting all this time?” he asks, and Dís laughs again, ruffling his hair.

“You’re quite observant, Kee. Now go get some rest, you’ll need it when your uncle comes to visit.”

And as Kíli sinks back against the pillows and exhales, he closes his eyes and finally relaxes in the fact that he is safe at last.

* * *

The airfield where the helicopter had taken them is adjacent to the marina, where the last of the guests to the park are disembarking. News agencies are lining the streets outside, eager to get the experiences of the guests and the workers as they emerge from the shelters to go home.

“The police have apprehended Dr Curunír,” says Dwalin as he steps out beside Thorin, who is standing on the tarmac, wind whipping at his hair as he watches the morning sun glinting off of the ferry to the Lonely Isle, now more lonely than ever. “They got him as he exited Hobbiton International in Eriador. You might be able to make a good case against him withholding crucial information about Smaug from you.”

Thorin nods. He hears the scuff of Dwalin’s shoes against the tarmac.

“And I guess Angmar’s gone to meet his own judgement somewhere else, then?”

“Sam tearing him apart was probably judgement enough,” Thorin remarks wryly. He looks out to the Eastern Sea, and the faint blue outline of the Lonely Isle in the distance, faded like a dream.

He turns his back on it, and makes his way back to the hangar where people are huddled together, guests and workers alike, with medics still making their rounds. He notices Tauriel Greenwood sitting on a bench with Hilda and Dr Ioreth, both women making clucking noises as they fuss at the redhead’s newest injuries. He notices Bard, enfolding his son and his younger daughter in a hug. He notices Bard’s older daughter, Sigrid, talking quietly to a smiling Fíli, who has an arm wrapped around her shoulders.

And then he sees Bilbo, talking to Bofur, but the moment Bilbo’s eyes meet his he rises to his feet, and Thorin’s heart starts hammering in his chest again as the man approaches him. This time, however, he welcomes the sensation, letting a smile spread across his face as Bilbo finally stops before him, his smile bright and beautiful, and Thorin can’t help but respond by wrapping his arms around him and holding him close.

“So,” says Bilbo when they pull apart. “What do we do now?”

Thorin thinks of the park, of the dinosaurs now wandering freely through the streets. Bard had turned off the power in the Control Room before they left. Nature had triumphed.

He shrugs, and takes Bilbo’s hands, squeezing gently and entwining their fingers.

“I believe I owe you a second date,” he replies, and Bilbo laughs.

* * *

As the morning sun climbs higher in the sky, it reveals the silent smouldering ruins of Erebor Prehistoric Wildlife World.

From her perch on the roof of the Visitor’s Centre, Azog surveys the expanse of the park. Beside her, Frodo’s feathers bristle as she looks back at her pack. Merry and Sam both look worse for wear, and Pippin is limping from a broken leg. But they are all alive, and that is all that matters to Frodo as she turns back to Azog.

Slowly, the T-Rex raises her head and lets out an almighty roar over her new domain, and Frodo follows suit, her own cry echoed by that of her packmates.

Nature always finds a way.  

* * *

 

> _O glimmering island set sea-giirdled and alone -_  
>  _A gleam of white rock through a sunny haze ;_  
>  _O all ye hoary caverns ringing with the moan_  
>  _Of long green waters in the southern bays ;_  
>  _Ye murmurous never-ceasing voices of the tide ;_  
>  _Ye plumèd foams wherein the shore and spirits ride ;_  
>  _Ye white birds flying from the whispering coast_  
>  _And wailing conclaves of the silver shore,_  
>  _Sea-voiced, sea-wingèd, lamentable host_  
>  _Who cry about unharboured beaches evermore,_  
>  _Who sadly whistling skim these waters grey_  
>  _And wheel about my lonely outward way -_  
>    
>  _For me for ever they forbidden marge appears_  
>  _A gleam of white rock over sundering seas,_  
>  _And thou art crowned in glory through a mist of tears,_  
>  _Thy shores all full of music, and thy lands of ease -_  
>  _Old haunts of many children robed in flowers,_  
>  _Until the sun pace down his arch of hours,_  
>  _When in the silence fairies with a wistful heart_  
>  _Dance to soft airs their harps and viols weave._  
>  _Down the great wastes and in gloom apart_  
>  _I long for thee and thy fair citadel._  
>  _Where echoing through the lighted elms at eve_  
>  _In a high inland tower there peals a bell :_  
>  _O lonely, sparkling isle, farewell !_
> 
> — "The Lonely Isle", J.R.R. Tolkien

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dedicated to Rick Jaffa and Amanda Silver, who deserved better. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read! As always, I can be found on Tumblr [here](http://omgkatsudonplease.tumblr.com/). Feel free to say hi!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Park is Closed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4305015) by [serenbach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenbach/pseuds/serenbach)




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